Gallows Humor
by Alexandria-likethecityinEgypt
Summary: THE JOKE'S ON YOU! . . . Batman's dead! Or IS he? As Robin searches for clues to his mentor's whereabouts, he discovers the clown's most diabolical scheme yet. Faced with his worst nightmare, how far will Robin go to stop the Joker? High "T" for Death Imagery, Violence, and Disturbing Content. ANGST/HURT/COMFORT. (Young Justice, Season 1, guest stars.) Editing is Complete.
1. The Joke's On You!

**I refer you to my profile about my stance on death fics . . . ;D Is it? Or isn't it?**

 **Warning: Language . . .**

* * *

Batman stood on the top of the burning building facing Joker. The mad clown was in his element. Police and reporters were on hand and several spotlights illuminated the battle that had going on for nearly an hour. At least the building had been evacuated and no one was in danger from the fire. He could see firefighters moving cautiously in, spraying down the buildings on either side.

If Joker had his way the entire city would burn as he danced to the crackle of the flames.

 _He'll just have to settle for the sounds of his bones breaking instead_.

"Not this time Joker," Batman snarled. "You lose."

"Oh, but Batsy, there is no time like the present," Joker laughed as if his witticism was hysterical.

Batman narrowed his eyes. The clown was up to something. His plans were being foiled, yet he was practically celebrating.

"No one is dying tonight, Joker. The building has been cleared," he said, stepping forward. "It's over."

"Ah, but there is where you would be wrong," Joker's laughter dimmed. His eyes glinted with his madness as his grin slowly widened. "Someone _is_ dying today," he corrected in his scratchy smoker's voice. "You've just mistaken the victim."

Batman swung around, peering down at the crowds of people all around them. His mind clicked suddenly.

 _A bomb!_ _The building was set to blow?_ _It would kill everyone in the vicinity_!

" _JIM, GET EVERYONE BACK_! _BOMB_!" Batman yelled down to the commissioner.

Maybe there was still time . . . He pulled his grapnel gun from his belt. He was lifting his arm to aim it at the building across the street when it hit him. The sting . . . in that unprotected area at the edge of his cowl along his jaw. His hand slapped the area and he felt more than saw the needle fall away. He looked up at Joker.

"What did you do?" His vision was already starting to tunnel as his chest constricted. He couldn't catch his breath. His heart . . .

Batman dropped his grapnel gun. He watched it clatter as it bounced once on the ledge before falling eight stories, shattering on the sidewalk below. He was vaguely aware of people leaping back in order to avoid the bits and pieces of the ruined equipment. Stumbling, he fell to one knee, his hand darted out to catch the ledge to regain his lost balance.

"Can you not guess?" Joker giggled. "It's so simple."

Batman hated that clown's laugh. It wasn't the high-pitch, maniacal laughter one expected. Instead it was a low, slow, bass rumble made by someone who had recently gargled glass. Deliberate. Cruel. A sound that indicated quite clearly that the joke was on you.

 _Simple_? _Nothing about the Joker was ever simple_ . . .

"That someone who is dying tonight," Joker leaned down to whisper, "Is _you_."

Batman reached up to grab the demented clown but Joker danced back out of the way. He could barely breathe. His heart was slowing. Pulling what strength that remained out of the depths of his core, Batman stumbled back onto his feet. He took one step in Joker's direction and then another, but always the clown kept just beyond his reach.

Suddenly, there was a loud crack and he felt the roof shift beneath his feet. The structure of the roof was threating to collapse. He needed to move but his muscles were stiffening, becoming paralyzed. Powerless, he could only glare at the bastard.

"I win," Joker cackled.

The world split apart and dropped out from under him. Suddenly, Batman was plunged into the depth of the blazing inferno.

* * *

 _That blasted clown was on the rampage again_!

Commissioner Jim Gordon had cordoned off the area and the occupants of the burning building that was now raging out of control had been safely evacuated. Several EMTs were treating minor burns and smoke inhalations. He had been informed that there were a few that had needed transport but the majority of the latest victims of Joker's antics had been cleared.

There wasn't much left to do except wait for Gotham's own Caped Crusader to reign the lunatic in and haul his ass back to Arkham. He had sharpshooters lined up. They were looking for a clear shot but it was as if the clown was aware of their locations. Not once had they been able to get him in their crosshairs for more than a second before the clown would disappear behind an air conditioning unit, the stairwell to the roof, or even behind the Batman himself – screwing the shot.

The clown and the Bat had been going at it for nearly an hour; the Joker had been well prepared for the confrontation. In fact, to Gordon, this had all the indications of a trap. But, certainly if _he_ was aware of it, then Batman himself already knew. Surely, the man had a plan in place to save the day, taking down this maniac before he could cause more trouble, more deaths. But, despite his faith in the vigilante, it was hard to just stand and wait. It was not in his DNA and Gordon chomped at the bit, wanting to get some of the action.

Already the reporter hounds were out sniffing. Cameras were rolling all along the police barricades. News at eleven . . . Live footage! More questions about the ability of the police to protect the people of Gotham against nutcases like this one . . . He sighed. It had already been a long day and it was promising to be longer still. Jim was ready to go home.

" _JIM, GET EVERYBODY BACK_! _BOMB_!"

As Batman's yell reached him, Gordon immediately started issuing orders in reaction. "Get these people out of here!"

Although most of the people began running, the news crew only moved back a few steps, their cameras never wavering. Made him wonder who the real crazies were. He marched over toward one reporter and her cameraman. Gordon recognized her from _GCNN – Gotham City's Network News_.

"Ms. Maddox, I'm afraid you two need to move away from here now," Gordon took her by the arm, escorting her away from the danger zone at an accelerated pace. The faster, the better in his opinion.

" _Wait,_ " the cameraman yelled at them. He had yet to move a muscle as he continued to record. "Something happening!"

Letting go of Megan Maddox's arm, Gordon spun about, his gaze leaping to the rooftop. As he watched, Batman nearly did a header off the side building, barely catching himself. But, something had fallen. When it slammed into the sidewalk, the piece of equipment shattered. Gordon turned away slightly, flinching when a bit of shrapnel sliced his leg. The three looked back, trying to follow the action on the rooftop but there was only so much they could see from the street. They saw Batman slowly climbing to his feet but it was not the swift, smooth movement that Jim was used to seeing from him.

 _Something is wrong,_ he thought. _He's hurt_!

"What's wrong with him?" Megan asked.

She was too caught up in the spectacle now to remember she was on the air. Batman was swaying, standing too close to the edge. Gordon grimaced, aching with the need to do something but, like the rest of the first responders, was helpless.

"The Joker hit him with something. I couldn't see what," the cameraman told them. "It was too dark, too far away."

"He _shot_ him?" Gordon snapped. "I didn't hear the report."

"I think so but, yeah, I don't think it was with a regular gun. Something else," the man told him. "I'm zooming in, although I'm not sure if that will tell us anything more or not. The lighting here sucks."

"What do you see, Craig?" Megan asked, stepping closer to him.

"He's hurt, but I . . . I can't tell . . . What?!" Craig yelped, startled.

Batman disappeared from view as the noise that Jim recognized as that of a roof collapsing followed a second later.

"What just happened?" Megan gasped. "Did he just _fall_?"

Gordon went pale. "Yes, he did . . . Right through the roof!"

Sparks and flames flew up in his wake. The building was blazing, the fire moving too quickly to be natural. The clown must have seeded it with some sort of an accelerant. The bottom floors were the worst and prevented the firemen from entering the structure or officers from mounting a rescue. Several were entering buildings on either side to fight the blaze from there, but this one was a lost cause. All they could do was try to prevent the flames from igniting the neighboring structure.

"He's going to get out of there, isn't he?" Megan asked, tugging on the arm of Gordon's trench coat.

"Come on, man," he whispered. " _Move_! You've got to move!" _Get out of there_!

"I don't see him," Megan cried, panic edging her voice. "Do you see him, Craig?"

"Nothing. Just smoke and more flames." The cameraman was beginning to sound worried himself.

"We need to vacate the area," Gordon blurted. He took Ms. Maddox's arm once more. This time, however, they walked backward, stumbling as they went. Gordon was unwilling to take his eyes from the action this time as he searched for some sign his friend had escaped the inferno. The Joker, however, was laughing hysterically even as he disappeared from view.

"Where's he go?" Craig asked.

"Not good." Gordon began pushing them a little faster. "Hurry! The rat is deserting the ship."

 _Batman had gotten himself out of worse scrapes before._ Gordon comforted himself with memories of past miracles.

"I don't see Batman. Is he . . .?" Megan wondered aloud.

"We can't know that," Gordon interrupted her.

"B-But he fell into the burning building! Can't someone go after him?" Megan asked.

Jim looked at the flames that were licking up the side of the walls with a growing sense of hopelessness. It was as if hades itself had come up from the depths of hell and consumed the building. _No one_ was entering that thing . . . By the same token, it seemed impossible for anyone to exit, at least, not by their own power. If Batman hadn't gotten out of there by some other means, Jim couldn't see him getting out of there at all.

 _He's done the impossible before_ . . . _Don't write him off just yet_.

The sudden explosion rocked the block. The percussion blew those closest to it off of their feet. Gordon stumbled, catching himself against the corner of a building several yards away. Megan landed on the pavement near his feet. The cameraman staggered, yet somehow managed to retain his footing. With Ears ringing, the commissioner yanked the startled reporter to her as bricks and other building material flew in all direction.

"No . . . Oh, no!" Her eyes were wide as she stared back in the direction of the explosion. A portion of the roof and outer wall were just . . . _gone_!

Gordon shoved them forward and they ran for the cover of an apartment building's lobby. Blocks, bricks, and roofing material continued to rain down onto the street, covering an area nearly fifty yards away. Windows were shattered and car alarms went off in its wake.

"Dear God . . ." Gordon stared out through the hole blown in the lobby door.

 _It would take a miracle to survive that_. He clutched the door frame for strength as reality slammed into him. Gotham City might have just ran out of miracles tonight.

"He's . . . He's d-dead, isn't he?" Megan asked anxiously from behind him. "B-Batman?"

"No, Meg. Don't say that." Craig gaped at her. His face was finally out from behind his viewfinder, although the camera was still expertly pointing at the ongoing disaster.

Gordon drew himself up. He still had a job to do. People were going to be hurt from that blast and there was still a damned psychotic clown on the loose in his city.

"Until we have a body, Ms. Maddox, I'd appreciate it if you didn't spread that around." Jim spoke over his shoulder. He didn't bother to turn around. He was suddenly tired. "And even then, I would prefer that you wait for it to be confirmed."

Straightening his shoulders under a weight that threatened to bow him, Commissioner Gordon quickly headed back out into the night, screams and wails were rising up from the ashes and debris. And, for a very brief moment, he wished like hell he could join them.

* * *

 **REACTIONS?** **:O**

 **Keep reading . . .**

 **I'm sure editing still needs to happen. Typos and other mistakes seem to reproduce like rabbits when my back is turned, but as of this moment. The re-edit is complete (10-16-17)**


	2. The End of the World

**Although I list this under Batman, this is actually situated in a Young Justice AU in which Dick Grayson had recently been adopted by Bruce Wayne.**

 **WARNING: Here Be Angst . . .**

* * *

The Bioship settled into the docking bay of Mount Justice. Already more than an hour late getting back, the team was discussing the possibility of meeting up with an irritable Bat for their debriefing.

"I'm telling you it's not that big of a deal," Robin said, attempting to calm them down. "I mean, sure, we're late but it's not like we didn't send word ahead that we were on our way back."

"Yeah, and it's not like he's isn't _always_ irritable, anyway," Kid Flash commented.

Robin laughed. "Seriously, he's not that bad."

The team stared at him and Robin threw his hands up in mock surrender.

"You all realize, don't you, that he has a reputation to uphold?" Robin asked, smirking at them.

"What are you trying to say? That he _doesn't_ glare at someone all the time?" Artemis stood, collecting her bow and quiver. "Because, if you are, I don't believe you."

"So, then, what's Batman really like under the cowl?" Superboy asked as he waited for M'gann to open the door for them.

 _That_ question caught everyone's attention. They all stopped, awaiting the Boy Wonder's answer.

"Uh . . ." Robin looked around at their expectant faces, trying to decide how he should answer that.

Bruce had spoken to him on numerous occasions, in both guises, that Dick wasn't to give away his role in Robin's life. To everyone else, Batman was his mentor and nothing more. It was too dangerous for anyone, even their allies, to realize the depth of their relationship. Of course, there were exceptions to that. Superman, for instance, knew Batman's secret identity and thus, Robin's, as well as did most of the original members of the Justice League but Batman had sworn them all to secrecy about exactly who Robin was to him. Dick was fairly certain that Batman had stressed the seriousness of the matter by using such words as _threat_ , and _of_ , and _death_ in his effort to convince them of this.

The others were wrong in their belief that the Dark Knight took the secrecy of their identities too seriously. It wasn't so much that Batman was paranoid about their identities, Bruce was just being cautious. Dick had argued the point several times himself that Bruce was overly protective of him but the man refused to budge on this particular subject. Especially in light that Dick had, only this year, officially become Bruce's son. The adoption papers had been signed by a judge and everything. No one but Superman, who was news reporter in his civilian identity, was even aware that the adoption had occurred so well had Bruce managed to keep it quiet. In fact, the story had remained only a local news item and had been kept completely out of the national spotlight. Dick suspected Bruce's recent acquisition of several local news outlets had helped in that regard and, although he didn't know for sure, he wouldn't say that bribery or blackmail was out of the question.

Robin avoided eye contact with Wally during this little interrogation. That Wally was included with those ' _in the know_ ' was something that even Batman wasn't aware of yet. Rob had chosen to confide in his best friend despite Batman's express orders. Dick had argued with himself long and hard that it was the right thing to do. Wally was his best friend and if you couldn't trust your best friend . . . Yeah, well, he had never quite managed to dig up the courage to admit this little tidbit to Batman, mainly because Dick didn't enjoy the thought of being grounded for the rest of his life.

That, and the fact that Wally had no desire to disappear off of the face of the earth.

Robin smiled, shrugging his shoulders lightheartedly as he lied through his teeth. "I don't know. I suspect he's just like everyone else out of costume."

"What? You don't know?" Artemis gaped at him. "Oh, come on! Are you seriously telling us you two never hang out or do anything together when you're not patrolling Gotham City?"

"Of course not," Robin laughed. "We _train_ together - _a lot_ , mind you." He continued walking out of the ship. No sense in making Batman come in after them, after all. Robin doubted even _he_ would be immune to _that_ glare. "But we don't just hang out and stuff." He tried not to wince at having to lie, but the truth was, he was getting better at it. Hiding things and lying, that is. Deceiving the people he trusted with his life was not something he enjoyed.

Kaldur looked at him oddly. "Then, you two are not related?"

 _Not by blood_ . . . "Nope," he replied instead. "Why would you think that? Are you and Aquaman related?"

"No, of course not," Kaldur answered, frowning. "It is only that you and Batman seem . . . close."

That surprised him. Batman went out of his way to avoid that appearance. "Really?"

Artemis shrugged as they followed him out. "I think what Kaldur means is that you seem incredibly loyal to a man who apparently means nothing to you."

"I wouldn't say he means nothing to me," Robin corrected that assumption. "He did train me and we've been partners for the last five years."

Artemis leaned over and whispered to Kaldur, "What kind of parents would let Batman train their eight-year-old to fight crime?"

Robin was becoming uncomfortable with the direction of the conversation but became distracted when he looked around the deserted hangar bay. He was surprised that Batman wasn't here waiting for them. The team moved into the central cave next but, again, there was no one present to which they could give their report.

 _Odd_ . . . Someone was always waiting for them, particularly when they were so late returning from a mission.

"Isn't someone supposed to be here?" Conner asked, frowning.

"Batman was," M'gann answered, "but, I don't detect any other presence here but us."

"Red Tornado," Robin contacted the android, who was assigned as their den mother, through the open comlink. "Have you heard from Batman?"

Red Tornado's familiar monotone voice came through the comlink. "Batman has yet to arrive at the mountain. As he wishes to debrief you himself, I would suggest that you make yourselves comfortable in the living area until then in order to be readily available when he arrives."

 _Huh, weird_. Robin knew that the mission they had just completed had been a high priority. Batman was anxious to get the intel they had gathered. He glanced around at the empty space. _So, where is he_?

Kaldur voiced the same concern that was going around in Robin's mind. "I remember Batman stating he would be here when we got back. Did I somehow misinterpret the meaning of his words?"

"No," Robin said, frowning. "No, that _is_ what he told us."

"Maybe something came up in Gotham that kept him busy," Artemis suggested.

"He could be running late, just like we were," M'gann offered.

"Yeah . . . That's probably it," he agreed.

Robin tried to ignore that niggling in the back of his mind that suggested that something was wrong. Punctuality was crucial in their line of work. If Batman wasn't here like he said he would be, then something big was likely up. If _they_ were more than an hour late getting in, that meant that Batman was even later. What could be so important that it would prevent Batman from keeping his word? The possible answers to that question were not reassuring.

"Come on! We grab something to eat while we wait." Kid Flash lead the way to the living quarters and the kitchen.

"I can cook something, if you like," M'gann volunteered.

"M'gann, you are a woman after my own heart," Wally said. He grinned at her before turning his attention to the contents of the refrigerator.

"That's your stomach, not your heart," Artemis corrected with a smirk as she shoved off her mask off of her face.

KF tossed an apple at the blonde archer, polishing his own on his uniform. He shrugged. "Same difference," he told her just before he bit into the fruit.

Robin picked up the remote off the couch and turned on the television. If something big was happening in Gotham City, there was a good chance it would have made the news here in Happy Harbor. He began flipping through the channels, looking for a likely news source.

"Are you worried?" Kaldur asked quietly, laying a hand on Robin's shoulder.

He spared the Atlantian a glance, smiling. "What? Oh, nah! This _is_ Batman that we're talking about," he scoffed at the suggestion he was worried. "I just want to know what I might have missed while we were off on our mission."

"Are you saying that our missions don't compare to chasing whacked-out bad guys around Gotham City?" Wally joked. He flopped down on the couch between Artemis and Conner.

"Hey!" Artemis yelped as Wally's weight made her bounce.

Robin stood in front of them, still searching. A lot of infomercials were on at this time, most of the news reports were over by midnight. That was two hours ago.

"Sorry, Walls. It's kind of hard to top some of Gotham's heavies," he commented absently, his attention focused on the television. "Whoa! Wait! What was that?" Robin hurriedly flipped back a couple of channels.

A building was on fire in Gotham City. Robin frowned. That was hardly Batman's territory, though. The camera panned around the chaos, capturing the numerous firetrucks and ambulances on hand. Several police cars and barricades were helping to keep the crowds back away from the danger. Robin started slightly when he recognized Commissioner Gordon off to one side of the picture. Police commissioners didn't normally work crowd control for something as mundane as a fire unless . . .

"Wow! That blaze is really going," Wally remarked.

"Why aren't the firemen trying to put it out?" Conner asked. The firemen shown were wetting down the buildings on either side, but no one was doing anything for the one that was burning.

With Robin blocking her view of the TV, Artemis leaned over Wally to see. "You're right, Conner. Why is everyone just standing around?"

Then they heard the voiceover from a male newscaster speak. Robin shushed them as he turned up the volume.

 ** _"_** ** _For those of you just tuning in, the video you are watching is from fire that happened on Gotham's lower east side just four hours ago. The fire is believed to have been started earlier in the evening by Gotham's Clown Prince of Crime, himself, the Joker. Watch as the camera pans upward to the action on the roof where the Batman was observed battling the clown. The scene you are about to see is graphic in nature. Viewer discretion is advised."_**

 _So, this was why Batman is late!_ Robin thought. _But, the newscaster said this had already happened four hours ago_? _Batman should have been able to have taken Joker down and escorted him back to Arkham by this time. So, what's keeping him_?

Robin worried his lower lip as he considered of all the things that could have happened whenever the Joker was involved. _Maybe Batman was injured and Alfred's busy patching him up_. He hated whenever Batman had to face down that crazed clown alone. It didn't matter that his mentor had already been handling Joker on his own for two years before Haley's Circus made that fateful stop in Gotham nearly five years ago, it was Robin's job to have Batman's back.

"There," Conner said, pointing at the screen. "You can see them on the roof!"

But Robin's trained eyes had already located the familiar dark shape outlined in the night sky. The smoke had made it difficult pinpointing the action but, now that he had, Robin couldn't look away. Several search lights were aimed at the duo when Batman paused, stepping into the glare to call down to the crowd. The sound quality was terrible, what with the crowd screaming and yelling. The noise the fire made as it engulfed the building nearly drowned out Batman's words, but not quite.

 ** _"_** ** _Jim! Get everybody back! Bomb!"_**

Although, the picture wobbled as the camera operator began moving, the view never wavered from the action. It was because of this reason that Robin was watching when Batman nearly stumbled over the edge of the roof. M'gann and Artemis' gasps were loud but no more so than the gasp inside Robin's mind.

 _What happened_? _Had Joker had hurt him? What's going on_? Seeing this from the ground hid most the action happening on the rooftop.

 _I should have been there_! Running around the world on missions with a team of sidekicks, Robin had lost track of his purpose. His first objective, the main reason behind the Boy Wonder's existence was to protect Batman's back. Guilt swamped him . . . because he hadn't been there, Batman was injured!

"Get up. Get up. Get up," Robin whispered, his attention intent on what he was seeing.

Unconsciously the boy took a step forward, willing his own strength into that of his partner. He forgot, in that moment, that the action on the screen had already happened, the battle already lost or won. Seemingly, as if he had heard the boy's encouragement, Batman hauled himself back to his feet. He took a couple of unsteady steps in Joker's direction but the clown managed to stay just out of reach. Halting, Batman hunched over . . . _In pain_? Robin was so focused on what was happening to his mentor that he was completely unprepared when the roof collapsed and Batman abruptly disappeared into the savage conflagration.

M'gann shrieked! Stunned, Robin was only vaguely aware of the other members of his team as they yelled and leapt from their seats in shock.

"Come on! Get _out_ of there," Robin called out uselessly as he waited impatiently for Batman to reappear. Joker danced out of view. The picture bobbled as the cameraman began to retreat with the rest of the crowd but it remained steadfastly fixed on the action.

 _Where_ _is_ _he_? Robin's thought had barely registered when the building suddenly exploded!

He stared. The picture bobbed as the cameraman finally took the situation seriously and ran but, only seconds later, what was left of the top floor of the building came back into view. Robin's eyes darted around to the shadows, searching for movement: a flash of cape, something . . . _anything_ that said that Batman had escaped before the bomb had gone off.

The scene changed back to the news station. The picture of rescuers swarming the area, attempting to help those that were caught in the blast had been reduced to a small insert in the upper right corner of the screen beyond the newscaster's head, a thirty-ish man looking tired in his rumpled suit and tie.

 ** _"If you are just tuning in, t_** ** _his was the scene that happened just four hours ago_** ," the anchorman began again . . . He was interrupted, however, as a person wearing a cardigan ran up to the desk to hand the newscaster a sheet of paper. The news anchor read the piece, his eyes widening in reaction to the update. He glanced over in obvious shock to someone standing just out of the camera's range. **_"_** ** _And, this has been verified? Y-You're sure of this?"_**

The reply to his questions was muffled.

" _'It came straight from the coroner's office'_ ," Conner filled them in on what his super hearing had picked up. "That's what the guy off screen told him."

The anchorman gaped for a second, stunned by this latest update before managing to get a hold of himself. **_"_** ** _This is . . ."_** the man stumbled over his words briefly. Clearing his throat, he continued on, the professional once more. ** _"Ladies and gentlemen, this just in . . . A body recovered at the scene of the fire has just been identified . . . It is my solemn duty to inform you that tonight, at the hands of that foul criminal clown, The Batman is dead! I repeat, it has just been confirmed by the coroner's office that Gotham City's own caped vigilante, The Batman, is dead!"_**

What ever else the reporter was saying was lost as all noise around Robin faded away, replaced with the sound of high-pitched ringing in his ears. The TV remote dropped from his nerveless fingers, clattering on the floor. As if the announcement over the air hadn't been enough, the words, in large capital letters, flashed on the screen.

 ** _BATMAN IS DEAD!_**

Suddenly, the air was yanked out of the room. He couldn't breathe. His legs, no longer capable of holding him, gave out, and Robin sat down hard. The room seemed to spin around him. His team clustered around him, but Robin couldn't see them. His vision was taken up by the words flashing on the television, announcing in uncaring efficiency that his world had just ended . . . again.

* * *

 **REACTIONS? Yeah, I know, I'm utterly cruel and heartless posting this today of all days. "Happy Father's Day! Your dad is dead . . . again. GAH!"**

 **There will be cliffhangers throughout this story, but I promise to never leave you hanging for long . . . Batman is dead, _o_** ** _r is he?_ You'll need to follow this one to the end to learn the actual truth.**


	3. No Justice, Vengeance

**I ended up having to rewrite the entire second half of the chapter! It was so beautiful, too . . . Emotionally-charged! Maybe even more so than this one. But, this one works far better with the plot! If you are interested in reading the first version, pay attention to the A/N at the bottom of the chapter and I'll tell you where to find it. ;D**

 **Warning: Language . . .**

* * *

He didn't expect to see Robin fall.

Like everyone else, Wally had been caught up in his own reaction to what was happening on the television and didn't think to look over until he had heard the remote clatter on the floor. He had turned in time to see Robin go down. He was supposed to be a speedster and yet, he had just stood there, stunned, as his best friend collapsed at his feet. Wally had immediately dropped to his knees beside him but Rob didn't seem aware of Wally's presence at all. Instead, he just stared at the TV in shock as he struggled to breathe.

Wally had _never_ seen Robin act like this before and it scared him. If anyone had it all together during emergencies, it was Rob. Wally had always depended on his best friend's ability to keep his cool, to know what to do whenever the shit hit the fan . . . except for _now_ , this time. But, unlike the other members of their team, Wally knew the reason why because Wally knew Dick Grayson.

All that stuff about him and Batman never hanging out after patrol had been pure bullshit. He knew Rob hated lying, but Batman had laid down the law that not only was no one on the team to learn Robin's secret identity Neither were they to learn of the Dynamic Duo's true relationship. Batman and Robin weren't merely partners, they were family - father and son - officially as of this past June. As his best friend, Wally knew Dick had already began thinking of Bruce Wayne as his father for a while now. Long before the adoption was finalized. When the day that the adoption had gone through, Dick had been so excited that he had called Wally up to tell him about it. For _two whole hours_ , Wally had listened to Dick ramble on about how great it was to have a family again . . . A real father! And then, he had let it slip. Wally suspected that Dick hadn't even realized he had blurted it out, but Wally had heard it nonetheless, his best friend's greatest fear. Losing Bruce as he had once lost his biological parents.

"No one can take me away from Bruce now," Dick had told him that day.

Funny, Wally had never understood just how afraid Dick had been of being snatched away by Child Protective Services until it was no longer an issue anymore. He had since learned that Dick's nightmare had actually happened before, not long after he had began living at the manor. Bruce had lost Dick to the system for a time, and it had taken the Batman several weeks of searching to find him. Wally didn't know the details of event, but Dick had thought he had lost Bruce for good that time and it had cemented the fear in Dick's mind, the possibility that he could lose his newfound family all over again.

No wonder Robin was freaking out. He was losing Bruce not to the system this time, but to death. Dick was an _orphan_ all over again!

Sure, Dick still had Alfred. Wally had yet to meet the Wayne butler, but he knew the man made the most heavenly cookies in the world. But, that was exactly the problem, Alfred was only the _butler_! He knew Dick thought of the man like his surrogate grandfather and all, but would CPS consider the butler, an employee, to be a suitable guardian for his friend? Would Dick lose Alfred, too, since Bruce was apparently . . . Since Bruce was . . . gone?

Wally couldn't even say the word, not even in his head. It was just too terrible to imagine. And, if Wally was this upset, how much worse was this for Dick? Batman was gone but, now so was Bruce Wayne. In one horrible instant, Dick had lost his partner, his mentor, and his _father_. Would he end up losing Robin now, too? _God_! He tried to imagine how he would be feeling if this had been his Uncle Barry, but he discovered even that wouldn't be a fair comparison to what Dick was going through. After all, Wally would still have his parents and his Aunt Iris to comfort and care for him. Who did Dick have?

He grabbed Robin by the shoulders and shook him.

"Robin? _Rob_! Talk to me, dude . . . Come on, Rob, _breathe_! You've got to breathe," Wally begged him.

Everyone was talking at the younger boy at the same time, crowding him, making it worse. Dick didn't need that. He needed to stay whelmed! But this news . . . It was beyond whelming!

Wally glanced up at the Artemis. She was hanging over his shoulder with a worried expression. "Do we know for sure they have their information right?" he asked. "I mean, this is Batman, after all. Who can beat Batman, right? We're going to feel really stupid when the man eventually shows up."

A tear dripped onto his shoulder when Artemis looked down at him. Wally flinched like it had scalded him. Artemis didn't cry. If she cried, that would make this real; it couldn't be real.

"He's still human, Wally. I don't think any human could have walked away from _that_ ," she whispered, indicating the destroyed building that continued to crumble pieces of itself onto the sidewalk being shown on the television screen.

"Would someone turn that off," Kaldur snapped. "Turn it off!"

Wally shook his head. "This _has_ to be a mistake," he insisted. "Someone _had_ to have made a mistake."

"The newscaster seemed to be very sure of his source," Kaldur reminded him.

Conner stood in middle of the room, glaring at the now blank TV screen as if his anger on Robin's behalf could somehow change the outcome. While the air seemed to vibrate with the clone's fury, M'gann swept the youngest member of the team into her arms. The empathetic Martian was weeping for Robin's loss, but Wally didn't think the boy even realized she was there, that _any_ of them were there. Robin's olive complexion was ashen.

"Rob, _please_ ," Wally shook him again. "You're scaring Artemis!" _You're scaring me . ._.

Suddenly, as if Wally had flipped a switch, Robin started taking deep, gasping breaths. He was back with them again and Wally wondered how he was going to react now. Would he yell? Would he burst into tears? The idea that Rob might lose it in front of them was freaking Wally out but then, anything had to be better than the zombie his friend had become during those first several minutes.

In the end, Robin didn't do any of those things. Instead, he pulled his lips back and let out a snarl.

"Rob?"

" _Joker_!" Robin growled in a voice filled with rage. Wally had never heard his friend sound like that before, so angry.

Robin shoved off of the floor so quickly that both Wally and M'gann were thrown back. The boy ran out of the room, leaving his friends gaping at his sudden change. Worried about what he might do, the team followed him out. They found Robin as he was punching coordinates into the zeta tube's control panel.

"Robin, wait!" Kaldur called out to him. "You are undeniably upset by what you have just seen. You should stay here with us until we can contact the League!"

"But surely, the League has heard about this by now," Artemis asked.

"I find that doubtful. Had that been the case, I feel certain the League would have sent someone to meet us, to have met Robin. It _is_ very late," Kaldur reminded her. "Whoever is on duty obviously has not been monitoring the newscasts out of Gotham."

"Let us come with you, then," Wally blurted out.

Robin hesitated, his back to them. "I want to be alone," he declared in no uncertain terms. "Leave me alone." With that demand, Robin dove through the zeta tube in a flash of light.

Shocked silence followed, the exception being that of the zeta tube powering down.

Kaldur stared at the empty platform, frowning. " _That_ was not the reaction of someone who does not associate with his mentor outside of patrol."

Artemis agreed. "He took the news very hard for someone he really didn't know very well, didn't he?"

"Of course, he knew him," Conner grumbled. "Robin was Batman's partner for five years, right? Even if they didn't hang out together, that is still a long time."

"It was more than that, though," M'gann said, wiping her eyes. "Beneath the shock and disbelief, past all the anger . . . It felt personal. Robin was feeling devastated by grief, like someone had just ripped his heart out!" She leaned into the comfort of Conner's embrace.

"That does not seem an exaggeration," Kaldur stated simply. He looked to Wally. "You are his friend, Kid. Do you know what went on here? Why does this feel as though it is even more tragic than it appears to be?"

Wally wasn't certain how to answer that. He preferred not to but four sets of eyes pinned him in place. He had promised Dick he wouldn't tell the others his secret identity, and he wouldn't, but what about their relationship? Rob's reaction did seem to put a question of what the two of them were to each other. With Batman d-dead, would Robin disappear now as well? He couldn't imagine how Dick would be able to continue as Robin alone.

"We're all his friends . . ." Wally replied weakly.

"That might be true but _you_ know him, don't you?" Artemis accused him. "You two know each other outside of the team."

Wally winced. "Look, I'm not supposed to say anything . . ."

Kaldur laid his hand on Wally's shoulder. "It is not a secret, my friend. We all suspected as much," he told the speedster. "Wally, we are not asking you to betray his trust but this hardly seems the kind of secret upon which the world rests. It is quite apparent that Batman and Robin's relationship is far greater than that of a mentor and his student."

"I . . . uh, I don't suppose it matters so much anymore. It's not like you guys wouldn't have figured it out eventually anyway . . ." Wally sighed. "Batman . . . He is . . . He _was_ Robin's father."

"But he said . . ." Conner started, confused.

"I know what he said, Conner," Wally interrupted. "He lied to you! Look, he didn't _want_ to. You need to understand that. Batman had forbidden him to tell anyone his secret identity or to even admit to anyone what their relationship was to one another."

M'gann frowned. "But why? We would never have told anyone else. "

"Why, indeed. We are all his teammates," Kaldur said. "We are his friends. His secrets would have been safe with us."

Wally shrugged. "Batman has . . . _had_ some serious trust issues. He also had a lot of serious enemies out there looking for ways to hurt him. Robin was already a target just being Batman's partner. How much worse to you think it would have been out there for him had the bad guys known for a fact that Robin is . . ., or rather, _was_ Batman's son?"

"I suppose I can see his point," Artemis admitted softly.

"The fewer who knew, the safer he was," Wally told them, quoting the words Batman had used to convince his son, words that Robin had shared with him when explaining the importance of keeping certain things quiet.

"So, where did Robin go, then? Home?" Artemis asked.

"Oh no! His poor mother," M'gann whispered.

Wally sighed. He wouldn't give Rob's identity away but if he could explain this much, it would help the team understand just how great of a loss that their youngest member has suffered tonight.

"He doesn't have a mother, M'gann. It was just him and his dad," Wally told them. "It was just Batman and Robin."

"Does he not have _anyone_?" M'gann looked horrified.

Wally clenched his jaw. How could he explain Alfred?

"I . . . I do not know what to say," Kaldur frowned. The four friends dropped their eyes to honor the depth of Robin's tragedy.

"Don't say anything," Wally replied. "As far as you know, this is all still top secret. I doubt Robin would be any safer now just because Batman is . . . is . . ."

"I can't believe it." Artemis shook her head. She was finding it as hard to say as Wally. "How can Batman be dead?"

Kaldur was staring at the platform again. He looked to Wally. "He should _not_ be alone at this time."

"You know, I was thinking the same thing," Wally admitted as he headed up to the zeta tube. He would just go and check on him, make sure that Dick would be okay and he was with Alfred. Alfred would take care of him. But, if his friend did need him, Wally could be there for him.

Conner frowned. "But, he said that he wanted to be left alone."

"That doesn't mean that he _should_ be, Conner," Artemis explained to him.

"You must call us if he needs us, Wally" Kaldur went on. "If the Joker is still on the loose and Gotham needs us to hunt the clown down for them, it is the least we can do for one of our own."

Wally's face changed from grieving to determined. Kaldur was right. If that clown-freak _was_ still out there, they could help Rob out by finding Batman's murderer and bringing him in.

* * *

Robin dove through the light, stumbling into the comforting shadows of the Batcave. Leaping from the platform, he called out for the only person he had left.

" _Alfred_! **_ALFRED_**!"

His voice cracked as he screamed for the trusted retainer, the sound was one of fear and despair. Looking around, Robin realized he was alone in the Batcave. Alfred was probably upstairs somewhere. He wondered if the butler was aware of the news. But, he couldn't go find Alfred yet, not with Joker still out there. Robin knew that if he did, the butler would try to prevent him from leaving again, and he _needed_ to leave.

His breathing was ragged from his emotions, but right now, it was mostly from his anger . . . Twice now, criminals had taken away his family, his parents, and now Bruce. A sob escaped his tenuous control but Robin ruthlessly wrestled his heartbreak into submission, shoving it deep down inside. Now wasn't the time for him to grieve. Grieving could come later, when he had the time to indulge in it. He had the rest of his life to grieve. He needed to keep it together because he knew that once the tears began, they wouldn't stop, so Robin focused on his anger.

That hated clown was like a rabid dog! He would _never_ stop murdering people. If something wasn't done about him, it would be someone else's father who would be stripped from his family, just for that animal's amusement.

Robin headed towards the armory to restock his belt. He recognized that what he wanted wasn't justice; it was about stopping the Joker. He knew vengeance was not what he should be wanting, that Batman would not approve of what he was about to do but then, Batman wasn't here anymore, was he? But, this wasn't just because of what Joker had done to Batman. This was going to be for Bruce Wayne, too. Robin was determined, he was going to bring that demented clown down if it was the last thing he ever did.

There would be _no_ escaping from Arkham again because Robin had no intention of sending him back there. No . . . The only place Robin planned to send that murdering psychopath was straight back to the pits of hell.

Robin emptied his utility belt of most of his batarangs, replacing them with the specialty items he would need to accomplish his task. All of Batman's tools that were designed to take down criminals were non-lethal, but there were several things they kept that weren't meant to be used against people. There were explosives that were designed to blow a steel door; lasers that were meant to cut through car doors and gun safes, heavy locks and metal bars; batarangs capable of taking out a concrete wall, a metal catwalk, or rip a hole in the bow of a ship.

All of them, devices with the potential to kill.

He picked from these, stowing them in the specialized compartments of his utility belt made to hold his regular batarangs. As he refastened his belt around his waist, Robin found himself remembering the night he took his oath. He thought about that spot in the cave that still had a sheen of wax on it from the dripping candle they used in the makeshift ceremony, a spot that Bruce had never allowed Alfred to touch.

Batman would be so disappointed in him . . . Or, he would be if he were alive.

The pain that ripped through his chest was crippling. Robin's face contorted under the weight of his loss. He whispered an apology to the man who had willingly taken him into his home and made him his son. This was going against everything that Batman had taught him, but Robin couldn't bear to allow that monster to live another day. He could only pray that wherever Bruce was, he could find it in his heart to understand why he had to do this, even if the man couldn't bring himself to forgive him for it.

Robin was locking the armory when he heard the zeta tube announcing someone's arrival. Hoping against hope that everything he had heard on the news had all been a terrible mistake, that Batman had somehow, miraculously, found his way home, Robin ran out to meet the interloper.

"Batman?"

As the light dimmed, it became immediately apparent that the visitor was not Batman. Too short, too lean, no cape, just bright-red hair. Wide, green eyes gazed around the enormous cavern is awe. The first time Bruce had brought him down here flashed through Robin's mind. He had just been Dick Grayson back then, but his reaction had been much the same then as Wally's was now.

" _Whoa,_ " Kid Flash breathed as he stepped off of the platform and into the cave proper. He stared at the dinosaur and the giant penny. "This is amazing, Rob!"

"What are you doing here, Wally?" Robin snapped angrily at his friend. His disappointment was bitter, making his question all the sharper for it.

"Where's Alfred?" Wally asked. "Are you here by yourself?"

"He's upstairs, and you shouldn't be here," Robin told him.

"And _you_ shouldn't be alone right now." Wally shrugged off Robin's ire, his sympathy made him understanding. "Look, Rob, we're your friends. We want to be here for you."

" _No_! I told you, I _want_ to be alone," Robin insisted.

He quickly brushed past his friend, hopping down to the level that contained the vehicles. The turnstile, where the Batmobile normally sat, was notably empty. He would need to remember to find the car and return it to its place of honor. When Wally moved to follow him, Robin rounded on him savagely, slamming the flat of his hand into the speedster's chest with enough force to send the redhead staggering backward.

"Go home, KF! I'm too busy for this. I have a lot to do before sunrise. Joker's still out there," he spoke harshly.

"I know that! _We_ know that," Wally exclaimed, waving his hand behind him to include the absent team. "Look, your friends are worried about you. At least, let us help you capture the Joker. We can return him to Arkham for you."

That was exactly the reason Robin couldn't have them here. They would stop him, just as Alfred would try to stop him should he catch Dick still in the Batcave. He glanced warily in the direction of the zeta tube but it, thankfully, remained inactive. The rest of the team was apparently polite enough to wait for an invitation. Sounds of footsteps on the stairs cut into the limestone walls, however, announced that he was out of time.

" _Master Di_ . . . Oh, Master Robin! Thank heavens, you're home!" Alfred's voice cut through the cavern as he rounded the corner that hid the stairs to the manor.

The butler had noticed Robin's visitor at the last minute, only just managing to stop himself before he could expose Robin's identity. Alfred knew of Kid Flash. He knew of _all_ the members of the Young Justice team from the stories told him by Dick or Bruce but the butler didn't realize that Kid Flash knew who he was or that he was already aware of Robin's secret identity.

Hot tears sprang to his eyes at the sound of Alfred's voice, and he was thankful for his mask. This was why Robin couldn't afford to stay to talk to the elder man. He would want to do nothing more than curl into Alfred's comforting embrace and weep bitter tears. He would render himself unable to act tonight and might not be able to rally enough to do what begged to be done after that. And, what of Joker's other victims? The ones who had yet to fall to the clown's murderous actions.

"Not now, Alfred. I have to go back out." Robin turned on his heel, practically running to his R-cycle. He had to get out of here.

"Sir! I _must_ speak to you first," Alfred beseeched him, hurrying toward the lower levels in order to intercept the boy. "It is imperative!"

"No time, Alfred. Later . . . When I get back. I promise." _If I get back,_ he added silently _._

" _Young man, stop_!"

Alfred had only used that tone of voice with Dick twice in all his years here, but it accomplished what it had intended to do. Robin hesitated, his helmet in his hands. It was a tone that could stop Batman in his tracks. Robin had even less resistance.

"You may not be aware of the situation, sir, but Batman has left fixed protocols in place for us to follow in light of certain events unfolding." Alfred continued firmly.

 _He knows_ . . . "It's going to have to wait, Alfred," Robin ground out through clenched teeth, pointedly avoiding the elder man's gaze.

"Sir, you must not go after the Joker alone," the butler insisted.

Wally couldn't help but to agree with the servant in this. The last thing Robin should do was go after Joker, not alone and definitely not in this emotional state. Wally was no psychologist but even he knew this a horrible idea. The speedster glanced uneasily between the two of them. "Rob, please! Let me call in the team. We can help you."

Robin spun on his best friend, practically spitting Batman's own words at him. " ** _No_!** _No capes in Gotham_! I don't _want_ the team's help. I don't _need_ it!" Robin snarled in his direction, even as he swung onto his bike. "Joker is mine."

"You can't do this alone," Wally insisted.

Robin glared at the speedster. "Go home, Wally. Go home before I make you."

Starting the bike, he revved the motor, effectively drowning out anything else anyone might have said. Releasing the clutch, Robin rocketed out of the cave at a reckless speed, intent on the hunt ahead of him.

Wally turned to face the older man. "What do I do now?" the teenager asked him.

* * *

Alfred stared after Master Dick, worriedly. He had no idea if what he had just saw on the news was, in fact, correct and Batman was indeed dead. This situation was something that he had tried unsuccessfully to prepare himself for since the grieving boy he had raised first donned the cowl. However, when Master Bruce had decided, several years ago, to take in another grieving child to raise for himself, the master at least made plans in the event that his identity as Batman become compromised.

Those plans had originally been made for three but, in the case of Batman's demise, were to be converted to accommodate only Alfred and Master Dick . . . If, somehow, Batman was unable to pull off yet another miraculous escape from death, it would be just the two of them. He had been, only a few minutes ago, initiating the first steps by retrieving specially-prepared documents for travel and calling for Master Bruce's private jet to be readied for departure.

Master Bruce's number one concern had been to keep Master Dick out of the system, to keep them together at all costs. If Batman's identity had been discovered, there would be no possibility that a judge would allow Dick to remain within the household, let alone in the care of an aging, family retainer. Alfred was to grab Dick and flee to a country with no extradition back to the United States and Bruce, if he still alive, would follow behind them at the first opportunity. Master Dick was not aware of the details to these plans. His instructions, in the even of this situation, was only to retreat to the Batcave and wait for Alfred.

Instructions the boy had just chosen to ignore. Master Bruce obviously hadn't taken into account young Robin's stubbornness and the boy's need for retribution on Batman's behalf.

Sighing, the butler looked toward Kid Flash where he was waiting for his own instructions. So out of place was he, standing in the dim cavern wearing those festive colors. Master Dick had always spoken quite highly of this young man, this Wally West. At any other time, Alfred would have been more than happy to have been hospitable to the young hero . . . but not this night. Tonight, the faithful servant had far too many things left to do, even more since Master Dick had refused to stay and assist him.

So, Alfred did what he had always done. He shoved his worry into that snug compartment in the back of his mind he had created for his two boys long ago and soldiered on.

"Sir?" Master Wallace asked him again. "What should I do?"

Alfred sighed. Perhaps he _should_ send the boy after him, but how could he in good conscience send another parent's child after the most heinous madman to walk the streets of Gotham? Master Robin knew more about that dastardly clown than anyone bar Batman. Perhaps he was wrong . . . Perhaps he would be grieving more than one loss before morning. He straightened his shoulders determinedly. He had too much to do to begin questioning himself now.

He looked at the frustrated young man beside him. "I wish I had an answer for you, young sir, but lacking that, might I suggest that you follow Master Robin's instructions . . . and go home."

* * *

 **REACTIONS? Pretty please?**

 **The first version of the end of this chapter can be found in "Collections 2: What The Hell Was I Thinking?", entry number 10, I believe, called "Gallows Humor: Breakdown". I give you the reason why the deleted version wasn't used - IF you cannot figure it out for yourselves. But I couldn't stand to send it off into oblivion, so it got a second life in my Collection 2.**

 **In the meantime, keep reading . . . ;D**


	4. The City Morgue

**Warning: Some Language . . .**

* * *

The morgue was the first stop on Robin's agenda.

He had to see the body with his own eyes. He had to be sure. Despite the claim reportedly coming out the medical examiner's office, Robin needed physical proof that Batman was . . . that he was . . . Robin blinked away the sting of tears.

 _Not yet_ , he told himself. _Not yet_. _There is still too much to do yet_.

He pulled around a non-descript, white van, using the vehicle to hide his R-cycle from the parking lot and any patrolling security on the hospital grounds. The morgue was in its own two-story building behind the back of the wing that housed Gotham General's emergency facilities. The second floor was dedicated to its own forensics lab and offices while the morgue itself took up the majority of the ground floor. It connected to the hospital by a long hallway that stretched out from between the two buildings.

Most morgues were in the basement because the dead didn't require a view. This one, however, was on the ground floor. It had high ceilings with windows to let in light but because the windows were situated nearly twenty feet off the ground, those weirdos who were fascinated by the macabre couldn't easily access it. Because this was Gotham City, and homicides ran higher here than most of the rest of the country, the city felt inclined to give their overworked medical examiners a somewhat pleasant workspace. Sunlight was a perk they hoped would keep their employees from leaving Gotham for less _busy_ environs as might be found in other cities.

Robin had seen his share of dead bodies. Personally, he had no desire to hang around them under normal circumstances, but he had yet to see a body of a person he had known, let alone one that belonged to a person he had actually _loved_. He shuddered. He wasn't looking forward to it.

Firing his grapple into the ledge set below the second story windows, Robin used it to pull himself up to the required height. He attached the line to his belt, freeing his hands up to quickly remove a pane of glass. Reaching in, he opened the window enough to allow him to enter the room. Glancing around, he could see five metal gurneys set up with at least four drains set in the floor between them. Surprisingly, it didn't smell as bad as he had expected. The order reminded him that it had been a while since he had last eaten. Had someone been taking his dinner break in here? It smelled like smoke and roasted meat, or was that . . .?

 _Oh, God_ . . . The boy paled, suddenly sick to his stomach.

Swallowing back the bile, Robin had to deliberately shove the knowledge into the back of his mind and keep his mind focused on the reason he was here. Moving quickly, he checked out the refrigeration units. He remembered there was a larger refrigerated room down the hall for overflow but, in here, there were individual drawers, each designed to hold one body, each having its own door set into the wall. Robin counted eight of them. Thankfully, there were identification tags set in place beside of each unit, making finding a particular body quicker. He was scanning them when flash of unusual color caught his eye. He turned, spotting the charred remains of what looked like a utility belt on a tray. Robin felt his stomach drop but, as he moved closer, the design appeared . . . off.

Was this something new that Bruce had been working on or had the fire damaged the belt so severely he couldn't recognize it?

He eased over to the table, Robin's jaw dropping when he poked the edge of it. _Plastic_? Cheap plastic, too. There wasn't a lot of plastic on their belts. It couldn't withstand the wear and tear of hard use. Their tools and equipment were too valuable to trust to flimsy material such as this. He pried open one of the pockets . . . _Velcro_? _What the_ . . .? Marbles rolled out. Opening another pocket revealed confetti . . .

 _It was a fake!_

The relief he felt was so great his knees went weak. Placing a hand on the wall, Robin allowed himself to slip to the floor as he struggled to catch his breath.

 _It wasn't_ him! _It wasn't Bruce_ . . .

He doubled over, holding his head in his hands as he attempted to wrestle his emotions back under control. A moan escaped, startling him at how loud it sounded within the cold concrete, metal, and porcelain tiled room. It took him several moments to work through the feeling of lightheadedness.

 _Batman was alive! Dick wasn't alone_ . . . _Bruce was_ . . .

He caught himself doing it again, making assumptions. He had _assumed_ the coroner's report that Batman was dead was correct but, one glance at the evidence, not even the body itself, had been enough to convince Robin that whomever had been brought in was an imposter.

 _A_ dead _imposter_ , he thought. But, that had been the real Batman on the roof. He was sure of it. _So, where did this other guy come from?_

The firemen had gone through the building after the fire had been extinguished. Robin didn't remember hearing anything about them finding a second body. **If** _Batman had fallen through the roof, like the video suggested, he hadn't remained there. Had he left by his own power or had Joker taken him? He had been hurt, though, possibly poisoned_ , Robin thought. He didn't believe that had been faked. _But, Batman carries the antidote for Joker venom on him. Whatever this was, it was something else, something different._

He heard voices in the hallway coming in his direction. Cracking the door open, Robin peered out. Commissioner Gordon and the M.E. were at the other end of the hallway, heading towards the morgue, talking. Robin was anxious to listen in on that conversation. He glanced around for a place to hide and grimaced. There wasn't very many places capable of concealing him in here, and he wasn't about to climb in one of the refrigeration units. Those things sealed upon closing and could only be opened from the outside. If he didn't die of hypothermia, he'd probably suffocate if he was stupid enough to hide in there.

Glancing above him, Robin decided the ceiling was probably his best bet. The height would assist in keeping him out of view as long as no one looked up. Even if he was spotted, though, the commissioner likely wouldn't protest, but he might try to keep Robin from investigating this on his own. He pulled out some of Wayne Tech's latest feet of engineering. They had been tested in the Batcave but this was the first time Robin would be using them in the field. Dubbed 'gecko gloves', they allowed the user to scale vertical walls and even hang upside down without the aid of a rope or grapple. There was a version that strapped easily onto the toes of his boots.

He heard Commissioner Gordon's voice through the door. They were getting close.

"Listen, Harry. The reason I'm here," the commissioner was saying, "there was a body that was recovered at a fire this evening. A burn victim. Someone from here leaked that information and confirmed the identity of the dead man to the press. I'd like very much to know who that was and if there was any merit to the tip. Was the body that was brought in earlier the vigilante we know as The Batman?"

Robin's ears perked up. He already had determined for himself that it was not, but he was definitely interested in hearing what the coroner had to say about it. "Gecko-ed" up, he started climbing the wall next to the door and was hanging from the ceiling by the time the men entered the room.

* * *

 ** _Ten minutes earlier_** **:**

"I want to know who talked to the press and I want to know now!"

Commissioner Gordon was having a bad night. The switchboard at the station was going crazy with reporters wanting a statement. How they got his cellphone number was a mystery and finding the culprit's identity was high on his priority list . . . Right _after_ he found out who slipped the anonymous tip to GCNN about the body recovered from the burning building only hours ago.

What really pissed him off was that the information being passed on had apparently passed right over _him_! What does that tell the people of Gotham when the news stations were better informed than their police commissioner? How the hell were Gotham's citizens supposed to trust him when crap like this happened? For him to be learning things at the same time as the general public was unacceptable and that meant that heads were going to roll!

"Take it easy, Commissioner." Dr. Haruto Matsumura greeted Gordon with an outstretched hand. He had been the coroner for this district for the last two years. A thankless job in most instances, at least until the police commissioner wished to speak to you personally.

"Morning, Harry," Jim shook the man's hand, "but it's not a good one."

"I can imagine," Harry commiserated.

A little sympathy went a long way toward soothing the commissioner's ruffled feathers. "You saw the news, too, then?"

Harry groaned as they made their way from his office to the morgue. "I'm in the dungeon here, Jim. Gotham keeps us so busy we don't often have time to indulge ourselves with the outside world. I heard though when they brought the body in."

They stopped outside of the door to the morgue.

Gordon sighed, rubbing his eyes with his fingers. "Listen, Harry. The reason I'm here, there was a body that was recovered at a fire this evening. A burn victim. Someone from here leaked that information and apparently confirmed the identity of the dead man to the press. I'd like very much to know who that was and if there was any merit to the tip. Was the body that was brought in earlier the vigilante we know as The Batman?"

Harry shoved his hands into his pockets, frowning. "I don't know who passed that on, Jim, but I will certainly be finding out. I trust my people. Could it have been someone else? The firemen or the ambulance driver? There is only the three of us on nights. Me, Rae-Ray, and Del Lewis. Del is another techy here but if he or Rae spoke without authorization, you can bet I'll be handing him or her their walking papers . . ."

"Thanks, Harry. Look, all that can wait til the morning. Right now, what I need to know is if that information was correct?" Gordon found himself getting agitated again. Had he lost a friend tonight?

Harry pursed his lips. "I'm afraid that I have more bad news for you, Jim. This really isn't your night, is it?"

"Then, it _is_ him? The body? It's The Batman?" Jim stopped. He had to lean back against the wall.

He felt shell-shocked, sick even. He had lost another friend, then. Batman had saved so many lives, working in ways that the police couldn't. Despite being a vigilante, Batman had been an invaluable asset, solving mysteries that went beyond the scope of Gordon's detectives and capturing the lunatics that escaped through Arkham's revolving doors. The man had put three of Gotham's most powerful mob bosses behind bars single-handedly.

"Actually," Harry hunched his shoulders a little, obvious uncomfortable with what he had to tell him, "the bad news I need to tell you is that the body in question has been stolen."

" _What_?" Gordon gaped at him. "Next time, Doc, lead off with that! _Damn it_!"

"Take it easy," Harry soothed him again. "I mean, yeah, it was stolen, but not before we did an initial exam and got some basic labs worked up. We even managed to get a dental mold and, trust me, all of it tells a story."

Gordon looked at him skeptically. "What kind of story?"

"The fire didn't kill him."

Gordon frowned. "Smoke inhalation?"

Harry rubbed the back of his neck. "We didn't get far, but I'm going to take an educated guess here and say nope."

Jim followed Harry into the morgue and halted just inside the door. _It smelled like roast beef_ _in here_ . . . _Did he interrupt Harry's dinner or something_?

His brain stuttered as he identified the source of the lingering scent. He gagged. Harry smirked, pointing him to the sink along the wall. Gordon retched over the metal sink, fumbling with the faucet. Groaning, he washed his mouth out and finally straightened. He was pale when he turned around.

"That's the usual reaction we get once folks realize what it is," Harry said cheekily.

Gordon glared at him. "I thought it was your damned lunch! Why didn't you say anything? Warn a guy next time, would you?"

Harry shrugged, grinning. "What? And miss out on the entertainment value?"

"Your bedside manner sucks, Doc," Jim wiped at his mouth first with his handkerchief, then ran the cloth over his forehead.

Harry sighed but didn't look especially repentant. "Uh huh. That's one of the reasons I'm a medical examiner instead of a general practitioner. Sick people don't have a sense of humor."

Gordon glanced over at the wall of refrigerated doors, each hiding a sliding table and a corpse. "And, I'm guessing that the dead do?" he asked, skeptically.

"No," Harry smiled, shrugging, "but neither do the dead don't get offended over mine."

Haruto Matsumura was a brilliant man. Observant, careful, thorough, very laid back, and easy to work with, but Jim Gordon determined in that instant that man's sense of humor was warped.

"Yes, I can see where this was an excellent career move on your part." Gordon shook his head. _Back to the subject at hand_. "So, you were about to tell me that Batman died from the fall through the roof," Jim surmised.

"Eeehh!" He made a buzzer noise. "Wrong, again."

"What the hell, man? What else could have killed him?"

All business now, Harry picked up a sheath of papers from the metal counter. "It's called tetraodontoxin," he announced. "It's a poison found in Pufferfish. It's a delicacy in Japan, I'm told. The chefs that prepare it, though, have to be specially-licensed in order to handle it."

Gordon stared. "Pufferfish. Have _you_ ever tried it?"

Harry barked a laugh. "Hell, no! There's a fifty-seven percent mortality rate for those who eat that shit! Besides, do I look like I'm from Japan to you?" At Gordon's look, he rolled his eyes. "Oh yeah. Sorry, I forgot. However, I was born in Cleveland, not Tokyo. Gotham City is as far from home as I've ever managed to get."

"And this teterodoni-whatever . . . This poison killed him?"

"Tetraodontoxin," Harry corrected, expertly pronouncing the tongue-twisting medical term. "And yeah, it was enough of this shit in this guy's system to have killed _ten_ men." He walked over to an metal table and picked up a syringe and a small, brown vial, holding it up for Gordon to see. "This stuff here, though? It might have saved his life had he been given it in time." He hesitated, then clarified his statement. "Well, probably not . . . This guy had rather a lot of it in his system, after all."

Gordon stepped closer and squinted at the vial, frowning. "What's that?"

"It's called fampridine. Long story short, where TTX paralyzes and shuts its victims' bodies down, _this one_ instigates nerve function to muscles. Of course, it needs to be given soon for it to be even remotely effective. Even then, the outcome can be 'iffy'." Harry set the vial and syringe back on the table. "Truth is," he continued, "with a normal poisoning, like you might get by eating ill-prepared pufferfish, if you manage to survive the first twenty-four hours, even without the aid of the fampridine, then generally you can be expected to make a full recovery."

"Soon, huh? How soon is soon?"

Harry set the bottle and syringe back on the counter. "Within the first hour is ideal, but if you can get the drug to him in the first six hours, he _might_ get to go home the same night."

Jim fingered the cigarettes in his pocket. He really wanted one right now but he was supposed to be trying to quit. His daughter, Barbara, had been getting on him about taking better care of himself. Standing in a morgue clarified the importance of caring for one's health while it still mattered. He pulled the pack out, crushed it in his hand and dumped it in the trash bin by the counter. The impulse might not last the next forty-eight hours, but he'd give it a shot.

"Right. So, what you're saying is that Batman was poisoned," he inferred.

" _This_ Batman was," Harry said cryptically. He waved Jim over to a separate table.

"What the _hell_ do you mean by that?" the commissioner growled. He was getting tired of all the bush beating. Why couldn't these science-types just come out and get to the point already? The man really needed to get himself some friends, a hobby, or something and quit yanking Jim's chain.

"Well, I've never met the man in real life, you understand, but I feel reasonably confident in saying that our Batman did not come from Haiti." Harry stopped at the table and indicated the remains of a familiar-looking yellow belt. "And I expect his belt held more interesting items than a few marbles, some confetti, and Chiclet gum."

"The devil, you say?" Gordon snapped his gloves in place, picking up the damaged belt to study it. "Half of it is melted," he remarked. But, then, it would be, coming out of a blazing inferno.

"Plastic and polyester. The rest of it was melted into what was left of the victim's skin," Harry told him. "At first sight, when you consider all the damage that the fire caused, poor lighting and overall general chaos, it seems plausible that this poor soul could have been mistaken for the real Batman. The dental records and our initial DNA findings, however, support that _this_ guy was Haitian by ethnicity. The official DNA report will be ready in twenty-four. I expect more of the same. Have any missing Haitians been reported recently?"

Jim laid the belt back down for Harry to bag as evidence. "I'll be sure to look into that. This is . . . welcome news," Gordon croaked. He cleared his throat. "It's possible, then, that our Batman, the _real_ Batman, could still be alive?"

"Well, he wasn't _this_ guy, that's for sure but, if he got a dose of TTX . . ." Harry shook his head. "Look, Jim, I don't want to get your hopes up. More people die from this stuff than survive it. _If_ Joker gave him a smaller dose, then I'd say there's a chance. A small chance, mind you, but that's better than no chance at all." He said, frowning as he considered it. "I wonder why Joker went to all this trouble to make it appear that Batman is dead and then steal the corpse back."

"Because of what you just told me," Gordon said. "He wants folks to believe that Batman is dead. He provided them with a body but, upon closer examination, he knew that the autopsy would reveal his decoy was an imposter. Lucky for us, you work fast."

Harry grinned, snapping his fingers. "That's me! Harry, the lightning-fast medical examiner! I should get my own TV show!"

"Why you don't work with the living is becoming more and more obvious," Gordon muttered. "I can assume you called the theft of the body in?"

"That's why I was in my office when you found me," Harry told him. "But, I didn't bother to make the call, since you were already here. It seemed kind of redundant, you know? I mean, here you are, a cop, and this being the scene of a crime and all . . ."

Gordon sighed, pulling his cellphone out of his pants pocket. He needed to call this in and get a few boys down here. They could collect the evidence they find of the break in and leave the report for it on his desk in the morning. He also needed to check in to see how the search for the Joker was progressing. He had a feeling that, when they found the clown, they would also find the Batman - the _real_ one. Hopefully alive, but Jim was worried that they might be too late, that Batman might be dead by the time they got to him. He had no doubt that, whatever Joker had hit Batman with up on that rooftop, it had been doused in that same drug that he used on the dead Haitian.

"Hey, Jim," Harry called out.

Gordon turned around, his thumb hovering over the send button. "What's up?"

"Did you pick up the vial of Fampridine and the syringe? It's not where I left it."

Jim sighed, punching 'send'.

"I'll report it, too," he told him as his eyes swept the room. A small noise drew his attention up. The window, high on the twenty foot wall, was now closed, but Jim's eyes were still sharp enough to notice the missing window pane and catch a hint movement. There a flash of yellow, similar to the underside of a particular cape . . .

" _Damn it_ ," he muttered under his breath.

How could he have forgotten the Boy Wonder? The poor kid was probably going out of his mind with worry over the fate of his mentor. He would need to call in more men for the search. He didn't want any more bodies in here, neither imitations nor the genuine article. And, he especially wanted to make sure that it was the police, and not a certain young bird, that located the Joker first.

* * *

The white van was gone by the time the Boy Wonder made it back to his bike. Joker had been here - right under his very nose! That clown obviously had an death wish, and if he discovered that Batman was indeed dead, Robin would become that laughing freak's very own fairy godmother.

* * *

 **REACTIONS? I need to hear some . . .**

 **Now then, on that note, let me clarify while this poison, tetraodontoxin, really does exist, it has not been established that it works exactly as it does in this story. Although very similar, I did use a little creative license to tweak it a bit for my purposes. More about this poison will be explained in a later chapters.**

 ***To date, there is no known cure for tetraodontoxin poisoning. The only recourse for this poisoning is the treatment of symptoms. While fampridine, also a real drug, creates reactions that appear to counteract tetraodontoxin, this is only my own determination based upon my research and should be looked upon, for the sake of this story, in a fictional sense. I am a researcher, not a doctor. To the best of my knowledge, fampridine is not used to treat pufferfish poisoning.**

 ***The 57% mortality rate for those who eat pufferfish is an actual genuine statistic, btw, and this is for those people that choose to eat the delicacy as have been prepared by trained and licensed chefs. So, maybe you should stick to tried and true Japanese foods or McDonalds (it's everywhere).**

 ***Oh, hey, before I forget, those "Gecko Gloves" are based on real life technology. That's right, I didn't make this up, folks. You should try Googling it: Gecko Gloves. The article that I referenced should come up by Fox News. The part that slips over the toe of Robin's boots was my own contribution. All this stuff has to be able to fit in his utility belt. ;D**

 **Hope you like all these little facts and figures that I tack on in my author's notes for your edification and enjoyment.**


	5. The Bokur

**Okay, this took a bit longer than expected. Hopefully, you'll agree that it was worth it. ;D And remember - When in doubt, keep reading!**

 **Warning: Language, Disturbing Imagery . . .**

* * *

Robin pulled up the holo-computer in his glove.

He could ask Alfred to man the Batcomputer for him, to get him the information that he needed, but after the way he ran out of the cave earlier, Robin had the feeling that the only thing the older man would give him at this point was a good tongue-lashing for disobeying him. So, he brought up the traffic cameras at the three possible exit points from the hospital parking lot himself.

 _There_! _The white van was heading south_. Robin revved his motor, tires squealing as he pulling out of the parking lot.

Although, it was possible he could be wrong, Robin knew in his gut that Joker was driving that van. Someone had just stolen the body impersonating Batman out of the morgue before more than an initial examination could be performed. He couldn't think of anyone else who would benefit by keeping that knowledge quiet. If Robin had any hope of finding finding Joker and, by extension, the real Batman, he knew that van was the key to it. He had the signal in his GPS, all that he had to do was follow.

He still didn't know if Batman had escaped the burning building under his own power or if he had been carried out, but Robin was able to take his first deep breath since all of this began. It made no sense for Joker to have gone to the trouble faking Batman's death if he were already dead. And, why bother kidnapping him only to kill him later? Of course, this was Joker. Since when had anything he had done been logical? Perhaps Robin was merely grasping at straws, but this train of thought was all he had left. He couldn't stop, not until he knew for sure . . .

 _Batman_ has _to be alive_!

 _Bruce_ . . . After four months, it was difficult to believe that Bruce was his dad now. Dick had long ago come to terms with the fact that his own father was gone forever, that he had to go on without him, but accepting it didn't stop Dick from craving the love and security having a family provided. In the beginning, he had believed that no one was capable of replacing his dad. The change in his thinking, when it had happened, came surprisingly fast. Initially, when Dick first realized that the connection he felt to Bruce had evolved into something else - something _more_ \- he had felt guilty about it. He even remembered exactly when that bittersweet moment had occurred.

It had happened during his tenth birthday, almost a year and half after he had first come to live at the manor. Dick had been blowing out the candles on the birthday cake that Alfred had made him when Bruce had reminded him to make a wish. Of all the things he might have chosen, the wish that Bruce could be his dad rather than his guardian rose up from his heart before the last candle had flickered and gone out. He had been wracked with guilt afterwards, to the point it had nearly ruined the day, but Bruce had gone out of his way to lift Dick's spirits. It had worked, too. The rest of the day had been wonderful. He couldn't have asked for a better birthday. It wasn't until later that night that he had laid in bed and cried himself to sleep.

Amazingly, he had dreamt that night of his parents wishing him a happy birthday. In it, his father had told him that he wanted nothing more than for Dick to grow up happy and loved. That's when it had turned weird. John Grayson had kneeled down, telling his son in that dream, that if he couldn't be there for him, he hoped Dick would find someone to be the father that John no longer could. It had been a strange dream. Dick had awoken from it feeling relieved. Maybe it had only been his subconscious protecting him from his own guilty conscience, but Dick had never forgotten the dream nor regretted the wish that had precipitated it.

He knew the dream wasn't anything more than just a dream. He knew that he hadn't really been talking to his parents, but he liked to pretend that maybe it was something more, that _maybe_ he had actually spoken to them . . . that maybe it was okay for him to wish that Bruce might one day be his father. A year later, Dick had made the same wish on his eleventh birthday, and again on his twelfth, and once more on his thirteenth. Then, a couple of months after that last birthday, Bruce had come to Dick, telling him that he had drawn up the paperwork to adopt him. He had started the process several years before but hadn't wanted to mention it to him until he knew for certain that the petition would be granted. The only thing needed at that point to make it legal had been Dick's permission.

The day it had become official, Bruce had taken off of work early to celebrate with him and the two of them and Alfred had driven up the coast. Bruce had put Dick above Gotham for an entire weekend, renting a house on the beach. Understanding what it cost Bruce to leave Gotham, Dick had never felt so important! He had a family . . . A real one once again. Dick had slept deeper and longer than he had in years, his fear of being taken away finally evaporating.

. . . Until Joker.

The fear of losing his family a second time had come back with a vengeance. Robin's hands tightened on the handle grips of his bike and he flew by at even greater speeds, barreling through red lights. He weaved through the traffic that always seemed to be out on Gotham's streets, even in the middle of the night, in a way that would surely get him grounded. His chronometer stated it was 3:46 in the morning. Nearly two hours since he had seen the news report . . . It felt like only minutes ago, the devastation of that announcement remained fresh in his mind.

He slid around a turn,leaving marks behind as he practically laid the bike down to make it. His gloves and kneepads grew warm as his knees skidded across the asphalt through each turn, using his free hand to keep his balance and help control the bike. As he straightened the cycle out of the last sharp turn, Robin spotted the white van just a couple of blocks ahead. He noted that they were nearing the area where this nightmare had all started. The building that had burned was only a few blocks away.

He followed the other vehicle as close as he dared, through the residential section, then into an older commercial area. A lot of the buildings here were hardly more than empty shells as most of the businesses had moved out and into the newly-renovated places in areas of greater urban renewal. What was left had been either vandalized or covered in colorful graffiti. Trash littered the streets where the wind had blown it out of over-filled dumpsters. It looked as if months had passed since the last time the sanitation department had come through. Robin knew, through Bruce, that the place was slated for demolition, with bids coming in to build the area up with hotels and new restaurants, but that wouldn't happen for at least a year. In the meantime, vagrants and other criminal sorts had already moved in, setting up shop.

The van pulled up in front of a large, abandoned, three-story. The letters on the front had been taken down but the disparity between the weathered stone and the protected areas meant the name was still legible: South-Central Gotham Business Complex. Robin pulled around the back quietly, tucking the R-cycle in behind an old dumpster. He crouched, sliding along the wall to peer around the side of the building.

 _Was Joker just going to drag a dead body right through the front door_?

Robin considered jimmying the back door before decided against it. Joker was crazy, not stupid. Surely, he had men covering the obvious entrances. Robin looked up, instead. The fire escape here was hanging loose, unable to support weight, making it unusable. Because of that, he'd bet the R-cycle that no one bothered securing the upper-story windows. Batman was in there somewhere. He knew it. Robin shot a line to the roof. With a tug, the line went taut, letting him know that the anchor had found something to hook onto that was strong enough to support him. In seconds, he used the recoil to silently assist his climb up the side of the building.

None of the windows opened. It was a risk breaking it, but when no one came running, Robin climbed through a third story window and looked around him. Nothing here but a couple of pieces of broken office furniture and a few scattered papers. He eased out of the office and onto the balcony that ran along three of the walls. It looked down into a central lobby area: a piazza with crumbling tile, a broken fountain, and, above him, a skylight. From what he could see, business offices lined the top two tiers while the ground level had been filled with restaurants and shops.

Starting on the left, Robin moved through the offices one by one, quickly and quietly. He had only managed three when the front lobby doors banged open and laughter echoed wildly throughout the space.

 _No wonder Joker chose this place_.

He peered over the edge of the balustrade, watching the Joker as he danced around the fountain. Robin frowned. The clown was in a good mood.

"Come out and load up the van, boys. It's time to feed the fishes,"Joker called out.

Priorities in place, Robin had to find Batman first. The medical examiner had said there might have been a chance to save the imposter if he had only gotten the medicine in time. The six-hour time limit for the medicine to work had elapsed five minutes ago, but he refused to quit. Batman wouldn't give up on him.

Crouching to remain hidden, Robin moved on to the next suite. He had to hurry. There was no telling when Joker would decide to come up the stairs. Robin entered the corner office suite. The first room was obviously a reception area, a door leading to the offices was behind the desk. The few chairs that remained were overturned. The desk, he noted, had a layer of dust an inch thick except . . . He shone his penlight over it. In one corner the dust had been disturbed. Not a neat swipe, however, but one that might be left behind if something had inadvertently dragged across the surface of it. Something light - like a cape, maybe?

Moving to the door, Robin noted the doorknob wasn't dull and dusty as had all the others he had seen. This one had been wiped clean. Someone had brought something in here recently. His heart pounding in his chest, Robin stepped through into a short hallway containing three more doors. The handles of the left and middle doors resembled all the others, but the one on the right, that led into the corner office, it had the same lovely polished gleam to it that only came from use.

Walking into the room, Robin panned his light around it, looking . . . and froze.

 _Batman_!

The Dark Knight lay on a conference table. He wasn't bound in any fashion, but neither was he moving . . . A low moan slipped out of the boy's throat as he rushed forward.

 _This **was** him_! _This was Bruce_!

"Batman!" Robin leaned over him and whispered harshly. _Is he hurt_? He shook him. "Batman, wake up!"

There was no response - nothing. Robin yanked his glove off and shoved his fingers over the carotid artery, pressing firmly in order to feel it through the heavy material of his cowl, waiting . . . waiting . . .

" _Come on_!" he whispered desperately. "Come on, Bruce. Don't do this. _Please_ , God, don't do this to me."

He looked behind him first. When no one suddenly appeared in the doorway, Robin pulled back the cowl. Bruce didn't even flinch. The hollow spot inside him grew larger still as hope receded a little more. There was some blood matting his hair on one side, but the injury shouldn't have been enough to keep him unconscious for hours.

His fingers fumbled with his pocket as he dug out the vial and syringe. He pulled the plunger back until he had 10 ccs. Finding for the large vein at the juncture of the neck and shoulder, Robin injected the drug even as he searched Bruce's face for a reaction, a hint that it was working . . . some glimmer of life. Tucking the vial and the used syringe back into his utility belt, Robin felt for a pulse again. Finding nothing, he laid his head on Bruce's chest. The armor made this difficult, but he continued to listen, watching and waiting for his chest to rise.

He couldn't hear it; he couldn't _tell_ . . .

 _No._ **_No_** , _it wasn't possible_!

Grabbing his penlight, Robin lifted Bruce's eyelids one at a time, flashing the light in them but the pupils remained fixed and dilated, unreactive. Stepping back from the table, that hollow place inside of him grew and expanded, threatening to swallow him whole.

Alarming loud, the sob caught him by surprise. He was alone again . . . For the second time in his life someone had snatched his father from him. Robin sank to the floor beside the table, clutching his head in his hands. There was a low, keening cry that escaped him, dragged from out of his very soul. Dick had always been so afraid of being snatched away from Bruce; he hadn't truly considered that Bruce could be taken away from him.

 _He was Batman, for God's sake_! _No one could kill The Batman_!

The laughter echoed eerily through the halls piercing the heavy grief that hung over Robin's heart. The boy looked up, his entire being focusing on that sound.

 _Joker_ . . . _That_ damned _clown_!

Robin climbed to his feet with renewed purpose. He took the time to tug Batman's cowl back into place, adjusting it so that it would sit properly on his face. He would continue to do what he could to protect Bruce's identity, even in death. He would have to call Alfred to bring the car so he could be taken home. In the meantime, Robin set himself the task of ridding Gotham of that twisted bastard once and for all. He would end that clown tonight or die trying.

* * *

Robin stumbled out of the office, shaking his head to clear it. He had felt numb before . . . detached, cold, but now a fire burned deep inside of him. It consumed that hollow space and everything around it . . . his heart, even his grief temporarily. Tomorrow all of those other emotions would return but now? All that existed was his rage. Robin let it burn and stoked the flames to greater heights. He _needed_ that anger to do what was necessary. No one was here this time to help assuage his fury; there was no other outlet available that was capable of turning him off this path.

 _It will be like putting down a rabid animal_ , he decided. He would be doing the world a favor.

He could hear Joker talking. _How many others were there in the building_? Another voice answered and Robin could hear movement below. _In the lobby_? _Or on the second floor_? Walking back onto the third-floor balcony, he realized there were at least two other men besides the Joker here, possibly more. He would need to take them out quickly in order to get to the clown, but Robin wasn't worried that Joker would run. The Joker didn't consider Robin a threat. He never had.

"Get down here and take the rest of our friends to the pier for a little swim, would you?" Joker asked.

"Will that mean we'll finally be rid of that smell?" one of the hoods asked

"It's a lovely odor," Joker chortled. "Eau de Death. It could become quite a hit with the ladies."

Robin recognized the smell they were referred to, the scent that belonged to decaying bodies. The thug that had been speaking was directly below him. The echo made it difficult to determine the guy's exact location. Pulling out a corded batarang, Robin swirled it around the rickety balustrade. Uncertain of how many he would have to eliminate, he would need the element of surprise to be with him. Rope secured, Robin leaped out over the railing.

Swinging out and around, Robin's hands tightened along the cording as he adjusted his trajectory. Clearing the balustrade, he hit the first henchman solidly in the chest with both feet, his weight and momentum more than enough to fling the man through the wall behind him. Robin quickly assessed his opponent's condition as he landed. _Unconscious_ . . . Satisfied that this one wouldn't return to be a problem later, he quickly ziptied the man's hands behind him. Robin's ire wasn't for Joker's thugs. It was directed solely at the bastard who paid them.

"Robbie? Is that little Robbie come to play with us?" Joker's chuckle wafted up to him.

Robin's own signature cackle was notably absent and, at that moment, the boy was certain that he would never find it again. He fought with grim determination with one goal in mind: To stop the Joker - permanently!

The second man came at him. He had quicker reflexes and rushed the lone bird. Dropping down, Robin used his elbow to simultaneously dislocate the knee and assist the man over his back. The man flew past with a yell, tumbling end over end before coming to a rest several feet away. He clutched his ruined knee with one hand while pulling a gun out in the other. Robin was already on his feet and moving. His pain threw his aim off. The bullets, three in all, blew past the boy harmlessly, if a little too close for comfort.

One of the bullets whizzed past his cheek, lightly grazing it. If he felt the sting, he paid it no mind, not even to flinch. But that didn't mean that the rest of the bullets wouldn't be a problem unless something was done. The guy was a poor shot, but he could still get lucky.

Flying over the downed thug in a front aerial flip, Robin grabbed the gun as he passed overhead, using his momentum in order to rip it from his grip. In one practiced move, the boy released the magazine, catching it in one hand and flinging it away. Then, emptying the bullet that was still in the chamber, Robin tossing the weapon over the balustrade to the lobby below.

Something struck his arm, drawing his attention. Robin looked down to see a tear in his sleeve and a thin dribble of blood seeping from a cut left by a knife throw. A quick examination proved that the cut wasn't deep, certainly not enough to stop him. If he lived, Alfred could clean it up for him. If he died, it wouldn't be an issue . . . just so long as he took that psychopathic clown down with him! The thug continued to yell at him, but no one was listening. This guy was only important if he could prevent Robin from reaching the Joker. For the sake of expediency, however, and to shut him up, Robin planted his boot heel in the man's temple. He was unconscious before his head hit the ground.

Turning, Robin stalked towards the stairs. Joker had come up during the fight and now stood at the top of them, holding his arms out as if he were welcoming an old friend. But, there was nothing friendly about the smile, nor the look in his eyes. Joker was pissed. Robin just took out two of his men, forcing the clown to make adjustments his plans. Robin glanced around to see if anyone was left for him to deal with but no one was in sight. They were alone.

"What happened to all your men, Joker? Did they finally wise up to you," he asked him, "or are you a little strapped for cash?"

"Actually, I use a few of them to test out my new recipe. Alas, while it cost me four of my men, it was for a worthy cause," the clown told him. "I suppose you are here to ruin all my fun?" He made a show of looking around him. "Where's Batman, I wonder."

"I didn't come here to stop you." Robin ignored the taunt and the stab of pain it carried.

That seemed to perk the bastard up. "You didn't?" he asked, delightedly.

"I came here to _end_ you."

Joker blinked, staring at the young bird for several seconds before throwing back his head, laughing. That deep, harsh smoker's voice grated on Robin's nerves. It had always creeped him out. It wasn't something you expected coming from a clown. It sounded wrong, even coming out of the tall, lean, pasty-faced maniac in front of him. But, then again, Robin found everything about this psycho disturbing.

"So, you found him, did you?" Joker grinned even wider.

" _You_ killed _him_!" Robin snarled.

"Did I? You know, surprisingly, it wasn't all that hard," the clown spoke casually as he examined his nails. _Was that a bit of blood under there_? _Huh, oh well_. "Had I only known of this magical drug sooner . . ."

Robin wasn't interested in listening to the villain monologuing. Tossing a couple of smoke pellets, he attacked. A roundhouse kick to the temple sent the bastard reeling into the balustrade. Robin followed up with two kidney punches. Robin was turning, intending to throw an elbow into the clown's back before tossing Joker bodily over the bannister when someone grabbed him from behind, dragging him away from the clown. The smoke had cleared enough for Robin to see Joker's face when he turned around.

" _Ow_ ," Joker complained, rubbing his back. "That hurt!"

"Let me go, and I promise you'll won't notice it by the time I'm finished." Robin struggled against the arms holding him. This guy was _strong_!

"Oh, are you angry?" Joker seemed surprised.

" _Murderer_!" Robin spat at him.

Slamming his heel down on his captor's instep, Robin prepared to take advantage of the brute's pain to get loose, but the man's grip never wavered. There wasn't even a grunt. _Tough guy, huh_? This time, Robin threw his head back and was rewarded with the loud crunch of cartilage shattering. It had been a devastating blow. The guy should be yelling, falling back . . . _something,_ but again, no reaction.

 _What the heck_? _There has to be something wrong with this guy. No one can handle a broken nose that well_.

"Meet Norman," Joker said, introducing them. "He was my first success. All the others before him died much like the bokur from whom I procured the recipe for creating my latest toys."

 _Bokur_? Robin continued to struggle to no avail. "Is that the name of the guy you dressed up like Batman and left to die in the burning building?"

"Name? Oh, no, no, that wasn't his name. That was his title," Joker giggled, raising gooseflesh on Robin's arms. "A bokur is something like a priest, as I understand it. He was a religious man." He leaned, then, as if sharing a secret. "He practiced _voodoo_ ," he told him in a loud whisper. He tilted his head as a thought suddenly struck him. "Would you like to see the doll he made of me?"

Joker pulled the doll out of his pocket. It was made of what looked like rags and a purple handkerchief. Several green strands of hair were attached to the top. A large happy smile was drawn on the face with red lipstick.

"The resemblance is quite uncanny, don't you think?" The clown held the doll up next to his face, waggling it playfully.

"What . . . What did you _do_?" Robin asked. Something wasn't right about all of this. Fear began to creep in, smothering some of the anger.

"The bokur, he told me all about it, you know . . . this drug. It comes from the pufferfish. Apparently, it can cause death quite quickly but, if you know the correct dosage, you can _revive_ them later. They wake up and, viola! Instant zombie slave," Joker laughed, delighted with the story. "The correct dosage was rather hard to get right. You see, the bokur was already dead by this time. The silly priest had no stamina whatsoever. Disappointing, really, but as they say, nothing worth doing is ever easy. It takes practice . . . Practice, and a little finesse." His sick smile widened. "And you _know_ how talented I am at finesse . . . So, you see, he was quite dead by the time I left him in the burning building."

Robin grimaced as the pungent odor of death seemed to surround him. Not merely the stink that permeated the piazza, this was stronger, closer.

"Norman, however, has been a delight. Unfortunately, one of the side-effects is that you lose your sense of humor. Norman no longer laughs at my jokes. But, apparently, you also lose your sense of feeling. So, although, Norman doesn't feel pain anymore, he's become oh, so helpful now. He even carried Batman out to the van for me. On the bright side, since Batman never had a sense of humor to begin with, the difference in him won't be nearly as noticeable."

"B-But Batman is _dead_ ," Robin stammered. _What is he talking about_? _Zombies aren't real . . ._

"Ah . . . Now, you see, boy blunder, that is where you'd be wrong," Joker snickered. "Isn't that right, Norman?"

Silence . . .

Joker shrugged, unconcerned. "No, Norman isn't much of a conversationalist anymore, but I think the trade-off is more than worth it."

Norman's arms tightened around Robin's torso, cutting off his breath. _Enough of this_ , Robin thought. With a quick movement, Robin lifted his feet and then swung them back down, using their momentum to yank Norman forward. Whatever reflexes he retained were too slow to compensate for the shift, and Norman flew over Robin's head. Even so, Norman refused to release Robin, and they both fell down the stairs, tumbling down into the piazza below. Being heavier than his captive and unable to control his fall, Norman took the brunt of it. Reaching the bottom, Robin extricated himself from Norman's now broken grip. Able to see his assailant for the first time, Robin gasped.

The man looked . . . _wrong_.

Norman's eyes were dull, if not entirely lifeless. His mouth hung open allowing saliva to dribble down his chin along with the blood from his shattered nose. Although, one of Norman's arms was twisted and bent unnaturally from their fall down the stairs, it didn't stop the creature from reaching for the Boy Wonder with his other arm. Robin stumbled back but Norman had managed to latch onto Robin's ankle with startling speed despite his . . . condition. Inhumanly strong, it only took one good tug for Norman to yank Robin off his feet.

It was as if the man really _was_ a zombie. It seemed impossible, but the proof was currently attempting to claw its way over top of him. And, the Joker had planned to do _this_ to Batman? _Oh, hell no_!

Luckily for Robin, one of Norman's legs had been broken in the fall along with his arm, making headway for his opponent difficult. Desperate to get free, Robin kicked the man in the face several times. Although, he could feel the bones of the man's face give beneath his boot, it was proving ineffective. Norman wouldn't stop. If this pitiful creature could feel anything, he didn't acknowledge it. Fighting both the zombified Norman and his own panic, Robin pulled a batarang from his belt and slammed it down on the back of the man's wrist. He felt something give way in the limb and the fingers began to spasm grotesquely, but Norman had finally released him. Robin scrambled away as fast as he was able and staggered to his feet, shaken from that experience. He gazed in horror as the creature continued to reach for him even with his now useless hand.

Robin had been hurt in the fall, his ribs were screaming at him. They were bruised, he knew, if nothing else. Unlike the brute at his feet, he still felt pain, but he did what he could to ignore it. Later . . . He could give in to it later. Right now, there was still a fight ahead of him.

He looked up at the monster responsible for all this. Joker was leaning against the balustrade, watching, thoroughly amused. Jerking out his grapple gun, Robin shot it off toward the third floor, punching the recoil. He soared upward, using his feet to adjust his trajectory and released the cable. In spite of Joker's backpedaling, Robin soared over the railing to plow into the chest of the startled clown with both feet. They flew backward, crashing through another wall and shattering the window that fronted yet another abandoned office in the process. The force flung Robin off, slamming into a desk with a loud thump, the furniture squeaking as slid it back nearly a foot upon impact.

If the Boy Wonder was slow to climb to his feet, Joker was even more so. Robin succeeded in hurting him this time. He staggered upright, and yanked out one of his explosive batarangs, this one capable of blowing a hole into a mason wall. The clown wasn't laughing now but, then again, it's hard to laugh when you have bootprints on your lungs.

"What's wrong, Joker? Don't you find this funny?" Robin panted at him. He was finding it difficult to catch his own breath after that landing. "Let's see you laugh while your head explodes, shall we?"

"Now, _that's_ funny," Joker wheezed. "Birdboy made a joke! But, we all know that Bats don't kill."

"No joke, freak." Robin held up the batarang and made a show of turning the explosive device on. It beeped as it began to count down. "This is the last time you destroy anyone's family!"

Joker's gaze moved past the boy's shoulder and his grin was back. "Oh, goodie! Look who's risen to join the party? The gang's all here!"

Robin spun around, gasping. In his shock, the pain in his ribs, the bomb in his hand, all of it was forgotten.

 _Batman_! _Alive_? _B-But . . . how_?

"Batman, be a pet, and kill him for me, won't you?" Joker ordered.

Robin shook his head in denial. _He's like Norman_? Robin backed away, unwilling to face the man he considered a father in the kind of vicious brawl he had been forced to fight with Joker's zombified henchman. Grim-faced, Batman moved toward him with single-minded determination. He moved faster than Norman, faster even than Robin.

 _No!_

"No! Please, stop!" He couldn't fight Batman. He couldn't fight _Bruce_.

Batman's reflexes were lightning fast as he snatched the batarang out of Robin's numbed fingers, flinging it out over the piazza. It exploded with only a few seconds to spare, the percussion was great enough to throw all three of them off of their feet. The skylight shattered. The sound of metal bending and wood splintering was the last thing Robin heard as he struck something hard.

The darkness fell around him and, for the first time, Robin welcomed it.

* * *

 **REACTIONS? Come on - There HAD to be some after that! Let me hear it!**

 **And more about how this is all supposed to work in the next chapter . . .**

 **Oh, btw, the only reason Robin used the vein in this area as an injection site was because it was already exposed and he didn't want to take the time to expose and raise a vein in Batman's elbow. Not the best choice in real life. Stick with the elbow.**


	6. The Quickening

**Lots of author's notes below to explain the truth from the fiction for those interested.**

 **Warning: Language, Disturbing Imagery, and Graphic Violence . . .**

* * *

He opened his eyes to darkness. Thankfully, though, it wasn't complete. After a moment, his eyes adjusted and he could begin registering a dim light coming through the dirty windows. There was a sliver coming from the hallway as well. He took his first deep breath since that damned clown had drugged him. Oddly enough, despite the paralysis, even through the slowing of his heart and lungs, he had remained awake and aware - at least, he thought he had been for most of it. How long had it been? And hour . . . two? More? He wasn't sure but, eventually, the decreased oxygen in his bloodstream had caused him to experience a sort of warped sense of reality, surrealistic and confusing. His sense of time may have been altered.

His vision had gotten so bad he had been forced to close his eyes. It was the last time he had been able to move since he had fallen through the roof. So, although he couldn't see, he had been able to hear. In fact, _without_ his vision to distract him, his hearing had become extremely sensitive. He had been able to hear everything that clown had said while in his vicinity, though his memories of the evening were jumbled. With concentration, he picked out the pertinent information.

 _Zombies_?

It seemed impossible but, now that his oxygen levels were approaching normal levels, he thought he understood it. The time it took was necessary to the process . . . The lowered heartrate and slowed breathing reduced the amount of oxygen to the brain. Not necessarily enough to kill the person but, after a time, enough to cause irreversible brain damage. The person could still function physically but at a lowered capacity. He would have slower reflexes, a clumsy gait, things like pain and physical sensation would have dulled considerably. Original thought would be destroyed, leaving the person at the whim of whoever took 'ownership' of him. He had taken measures to reduce the amount of oxygen necessary in order to prevent as much of the damage as possible for as long as possible by calling upon his study of holistic meditation during his time in the Far East.

Based upon his critical thinking now, whatever Robin had injected him with had been able save him from a similar fate. Even so, it was too early yet to determine how he had been affected, whether those side effects might be permanent or not. Slowly, over the past several long minutes, he had regained control over his muscles and, as his heart rate had increased and his breathing normalized, the strange, dreamlike state he had been in faded as clarity of thought returned.

Robin! . . . _Dick_! If that hadn't been all a hallucination, his son had thought him dead.

 _Dear God_! _The boy must be going out of his mind with grief_.

While Dick's capacity to bounce back after tragedy struck had impressed Bruce, he was conscious of the fact that the boy had only done so with the love and support of Alfred and himself. Dick's anger and need for vengeance had been redirected and quenched through his work as Robin. With Bruce's guidance, the boy's sense of justice prevailed over his quest for revenge. Without Bruce . . . Without Batman . . . Would Alfred be able to direct him safely through his grief? Would Dick fail to recover after another such devastating blow?

 _Losing another father in such a way . . . What must that be doing to him_?

Losing his own family had changed Bruce on an elemental level. He couldn't imagine what a second loss would have done to him had something happened to Alfred so closely to the first. Bruce couldn't be sure what side of the law he might have ended up on without Alfred's steadfast guidance. He knew the older man often despaired of him, but the truth was, it could have been so much worse.

He pushed himself up into a sitting position and waited for the vertigo to leave as his blood pressure leveled out. Whatever damage he had sustained seemed to be minimal. At least, it appeared to be unnoticeable by him at present. Given the state of his mind at the time the antidote had been received, any longer might have, indeed, left him incapacitated to a debilitating degree.

Bruce had long ago changed his will to make Dick his legal heir, even before his guardianship had been made permanent. After the adoption, Bruce had only changed specific stipulations that pertained to Dick's custody should something happen to him, making certain that the boy would never again be left to the dubious care of the state. He had named Alfred as the boy's legal guardian should the worst happen. As Batman, the risk of dying early was too great to ignore.

Tonight, however, he wouldn't have even been granted the dignity of death.

Joker was still here, and Robin wasn't in the proper frame of mind to be handling the clown on his own even if he could. Batman would never have sent Robin after Joker by himself but, if he wasn't mistaken, the boy was here now – and alone! You couldn't make any mistakes when dealing with that madman . . . He had to get out there and help the boy lest it was Bruce that was left grieving come the dawn.

He pushed himself to his feet.

He wavered just a moment before his balance settled into place. His mind sharpened to a point, his exhaustion evaporated. He wasn't so foolish as to believe there wouldn't be any after effects from this, but he could waste no more time recovering. Walking out of the abandoned office, he followed the sounds of fighting. He looked down into the piazza below and saw Robin climbing unsteadily to his feet and the ' _thing_ ' was lying broken at his feet. From the third floor, Batman could see that the poor wretch still struggled to follow his master's orders despite his crippling injuries. Batman suppressed the shudder. That sad creature could have been _him_.

As he watched, Robin shot off a line with his grapple gun, using its recoil to sending him hurtling into the Joker. The speed with which he flew upward, with his mass, could _kill_ a man . . . Was possible that it could kill Robin himself! The boy was allowing his grief to get the better of him. Robin and mad clown went crashing into the empty office behind them, taking out the window and part of the wall.

 _Good Lord_! _Had the boy injured himself with that foolhardy action_? Batman leapt over the balustrade, landing midway on the stairs below him that connected the third and second floors.

Joker came staggering out of the office. That he was still able to stand after that was just short of miraculous, but it was easy to see the clown had been hurt. An arm crossed his chest protectively as the other reached for the railing for support. The Joker hadn't seen him yet but he would. Being injured would make the bastard even more dangerous. He would be willing to do anything to avoid capture, his plans be damned. Before he could move, Robin exited next. His expression was furious, but there was intent in the way he moved. The boy obviously had a plans of his own, and Batman was beginning to believe they included actions of which he would not approve.

"What's wrong, Joker? Don't you find this funny?" Robin snarled at the clown. "Let's see how loud you laugh when your head explodes, shall we?"

"Now that's funny," Joker croaked; his voice strained from the pummeling he had just received. "Birdboy made a joke! But we all know that bats don't kill."

"No joke, freak," Robin spat as he held up a batarang.

A tiny red light flashed as the weapon began beeping. Batman recognized the item immediately. _What is he doing_?

The explosive device that this particular batarang contained was one of the more powerful ones that Batman employed on occasion. It could blow a hole in one of the outer walls of this building; it would certainly kill anyone within a twenty yard radius easily. _Did Robin not realize which device he held_? Batman ran down the steps. The countdown to this explosive was only fifteen seconds.

"This is the last time you destroy anyone's family," Robin yelled.

 _Oh, Dick, no_ . . .

Joker was the first to spot him but, rather than running, the clown laughed. "Look who's finally joined the party! The gang's all here," he declared.

Robin spun around and paled several shades, his shock obvious. The hand holding the explosive dropped to his side.

"Batman, be a pet and kill him for me, won't you?" Joker grinned widely and waved a hand at the boy.

"No! Stay back!" Robin backed away in fear.

Batman understood what the boy was thinking, that he was a zombie like the poor bastard he had fought only minutes before. There was no time to reassure him; the countdown had just four seconds remaining. Batman snatched the batarang from Robin's hand, flinging it hard out over the piazza. He turned, hoping to shield the boy from the power of the blast, but the strength of the explosion caught everyone off guard.

Batman had never set off a charge this powerful in open air like this and never first without taking cover. The force of the blast threw all three of them off their feet. Batman hit a door, crashing into the same office that Robin and Joker had gone through just a few minutes earlier. Although he hadn't seen where Joker had ended up, Robin had gone through the same wall again, tumbling across debris and slamming into a built-in counter. His head hit the hardwood with a sickening thud, undoubtedly receiving a concussion as a result. Robin was holding a hand to his head as he attempted to rise when part of the ceiling fell in on them. The boy disappeared under the wreckage.

" _Robin_!" Batman shoved his way out from under the debris, intent only on getting to his son when the Joker stumbled to his knees on the balcony just outside of the office, looking the worse for wear. His enthusiasm, unfortunately, remained undimmed. _Damn him_ . . .

"Batsy, how wonderful to see you!" Joker coughed in between hoarse chuckles. "When you unbury yourself, see to it that you wring that birdie's neck. Then, you can drag him out to the van. We will dump him with the others."

"I'll see you back to Arkham, clown," Batman growled, shoving the last of the drywall away.

Joker made an exaggerated disappointed expression.

"Oh, darn . . . So,the batbrat woke you up before you were fully cooked, didn't he?" The Joker's expression flickered, anger flashing before he was grinning again."I thought it was a little too early for you to be rising. Ah well, those are the breaks, aren't they? No hard feelings?"

The clown moved out of view as Batman scrambled to his feet. The clown could wait while he checked on Robin. A large amount of material covered the boy, but a heavy metal support had only just missed crushing him beneath its weight, one end of the beam being supported by the counter. Batman was climbing over the rubble when a large body slammed into him, smashing him through the back wall and into the hallway beyond. Each business was a small warren of smaller offices beyond the larger reception area and Batman wondered if he was going to learn about each of them the hard way as he immediately went on the offensive.

Elbowing his opponent in the face didn't earn him more than a slight grunt in response. This thug apparently had a jaw of steel for all he reacted to the solid blow. Using a wrestler's hold, Batman flipped the other man onto his back and found himself startled. This man, while staring at him intently, was noticeably absent from that hard gaze. His mouth hung open, and blood and spittle ran unheeded down his chin. The poor fool, more creature than man now, didn't seem to realize that Batman had just broken his jaw and nor did he bother to wipe at the mess that dripped from his face. The thing reached for Batman as if determined to tear his head from his shoulders if he didn't move quickly to avoid his attacker.

That this might have been him in another hour or two did not go unrealized.

He pulled from his memories what he needed to defeat his foe. Joker's victims had a seriously lowered pain threshold. That meant he could hurt this guy all day but, unless Batman incapacitated him, he would just keep coming back for more. Grabbing one of the creature's wrists in one hand, he twisted the limb, and slammed his palm heel into the elbow, breaking the arm . Although a devastating injury, no scream accompanied it. Instead, the brute swung around with his other hand, attempting to gouge out Batman's eye, lens and all. Blocking the move, he could see that stopping this adversary would require a more ruthless approach.

Spinning about, Batman brought his heavy boot down against the side of the other man's leg with savage force. The crack made by the snapping bone echoed throughout the building. Convinced it would be enough to keep the creature out of commission, Batman left him to search out his boy.

Stepping into the front room once again, Batman saw immediately that, where the boy had lay, the debris had been cleared away. Had Robin awoken or had Joker taken him? Fear for his son spurred Batman forward with all speed. The balcony was damaged with a huge, gaping hole where the once ornate balustrade had been. As he peered into the grand piazza below, a flash of red and yellow caught his eye. Joker and his last remaining thug were hurrying to leave the building. His gaze narrowed at the size of this behemoth. The yellow underside of Robin's cape flashing from where the boy dangled unconscious over the giant's shoulder.

Was this mammoth unfortunate enough to be another one of Joker's ' _zombies_ '? Could he risk the potential injury to find out? How could he fight this Goliath while the giant still held onto Robin? Shooting his grapple, Batman swung down, landing but a few feet away.

"Joker! Put Robin down now," he called out, angrily. "Your fight is with me!"

Joker turned to face the Bat. "I don't want to fight you, though. I had wanted us to become a _team_ : Batman and Joker!" He waved a hand in front of him as if reading their names displayed on a marquee. "It would have been beautiful, Batsy!"

The clown's ever-present grin turned down and Batman felt a chill creep up his back. For all that Joker's smiles disturbed him, the lunatic's frowns were terrifying - particularly when he knew that all of Joker's displeasure was directed on the boy. Already sizing his next opponent up, Batman judged him to be at least seven inches taller than his own six foot two frame, and as broad as he was tall. If _he_ couldn't feel pain, it would take a tremendous effort to bring the man down.

"Too bad birdboy had to go and ruin it for me." Joker snapped. "I _was_ just going to kill him for the trouble he caused but, then I thought, why not let the kid make it up to me. A bird for a bat! While it wouldn't have been as perfect as you and me, to watch the two of you brawl it out with little Robbie under my command . . ." The bastard smacked his lips in satisfaction. "The entertainment value alone would be reward enough."

"I'll see you in hell first," Batman snarled. "Put the boy down."

The Joker smirked. "It's already begun, you know." The clown flicked a used dart in Batman's direction. It clinked against the broken tile at his feet. It was the same as the one that had struck Batman on the roof of the burning building.

"What did you do?" If it was possible, Batman's voice dropped even lower, an unspoken threat lacing his words.

"I'm not entirely sure it will work, unfortunately," Joker said carelessly. "The dose was formulated for someone a bit . . . well," he spaced his hands out to indicate someone more Batman's size and shrugged, ". . . larger. It may just kill him instead. Ah well, c'est la vie! We'll know one way or another in six minutes or so but, in the end, depriving you of your little sidekick is still a worthy goal."

Shoving his fury down, Batman tossed a concussion grenade between the Joker and his gorilla as he shielded his face with his cape. The noise caused his ears to ring despite the ear protection built into his cowl it. For the clown and his thug, they would be blind and deaf for a time, giving Batman an advantage he needed.

Holding an arm over his useless eyes, Joker yelled to his man. "Get him!"

It was debatable whether the giant had heard the order, but it didn't matter. The Joker wasn't getting away, not with this drug still in his possession. Crossing the distance, Batman shoved the clown's face into the door jam with ruthless efficiency, then flipped him over his shoulder. If the sadist impacted the floor with more force than necessary, he should glad he wouldn't be eating out a straw. Batman jerked his hands behind his back, snapping the batcuffs on his wrists a second later.

The hand that grabbed the back of his cape, yanked him back. The giant had dropped Robin to come after him. He swung a fist the size of a cantaloupe at the vigilante's head. Batman still couldn't judge whether 'Goliath' was a ' _zombie_ ' or not, but Robin's life was on the line. The boy hadn't time for him to waste trading punches with someone who might not feel them, someone who wouldn't stop. His counter attack would have to be brutal. He would leave it to the police and the emergency room personnel to pick up the pieces.

Batman, employing all of his strength with vicious accuracy, struck several vital spots in quick succession. Dodging a blow, Batman captured the extended arm. Spinning beneath the behemoth. He drove his fist into the shoulder joint, dislocating it. Ramming his boot into the back of the goon's leg, he dropped 'Goliath' to his knees. The screaming giant swung around with his left, but Batman caught the fist before it could impact with his face. He twisted the limb even as the steel toe of his boot connected with the back his opponent's head. He followed it up with a knife-hand to the larynx. As the beast fell to the floor, choking, Batman brought his boot down, shattering his rival's kneecap, removing any remaining threat.

The course of the fight had already taken two of Robin's allotted six minutes. He _was_ slower, although it might not be an appreciative difference under normal circumstances, right now, his son's life depended on his speed.

He rushed to Robin's side. Yanking off his glove, he pressed two fingers against the boy's neck. He shook his head, detecting only one beat in twenty seconds. The boy was still breathing, thank God, but it was shallow, heavily labored, and far too slow. Robin's lips were already taking on a purplish cast.

 _Damn that clown_!

Uncertain of the name of the poison was the Joker had used on them, Batman floundered for a way to undo its effects without a viable antidote on hand.

 _Antidote_? _Of course_! The drug Robin had given him . . . It had brought him back from the brink, hadn't it?

Did the boy have still have it on him? It was foggy. He closed his eyes trying to recall what he could. He knew that Robin had believed it hadn't worked, thought he had been too late. What would he have done with it? Would he have left it upstairs in the room or would he have tucked it away in his belt? Time was passing, and if Batman guessed wrong, he wouldn't have time to search the bottle out before the boy died.

With Robin right in front of him, it would be more efficient to check here first. If he couldn't find it, Batman would sling Robin over his shoulder and grapple them to the third floor to search it out. He refused to give up on the boy. He thumbed the hidden switch in the boy's buckle that would allow him to rifle through the belt's compartments without receiving 50,000 volts for his trouble.

It had been a syringe, remembering the sting of a needle. Batman didn't waste time sifting through pockets too small to hold a syringe. This left just four that were the size he was looking for, two on either side of the belt. He found it in the third compartment, the syringe that Robin had used on him and what was left of a vial of . . . fampridine? He recognized the name. It was a drug that increased nerve activity to the muscles. It was generally used to assist people who suffered from the gradual paralysis due to degenerative diseases like multiple sclerosis.

 _This might just work_! It had obviously worked on him, after all, but his dose of the poison had been measured based upon his size and weight. Robin had received an overdose of an already lethal poison.

Unsure of the correct dosage for one Dick's size, Batman pulled out five ccs. He could give him another dose if he saw no improvement in ten minutes.

Four minutes were gone of the six Joker had allotted. The clown could have been lying, it was even likely, but Batman chose not to take that chance. He pulled free a cord from his belt to tie around Robin's arm to raise a vein. The urge to not simply plunge the needle into the muscle was strong, but to stop the progression of the paralysis, he would need to inject the serum into the bloodstream. He took as much care as he dared as the clock continued to tick away Robin's life.

Yanking out his penlight, Batman flipped open the lenses in Robin's mask, flashing the light into his eyes to judge the boy's pupil reaction. They were initially dilated, but that was not surprising in the dim lighting. His reaction time to the light, however, was sluggish. Robin's breathing seemed to still at this point. Batman could no longer discern the rise and fall of his chest. He felt for a pulse and discovered it was no longer detectable, even in the boy's neck. Tilting Robin's head back, Batman gave him a couple of rescue breaths before beginning CPR.

His mind blanked as he began the compressions. The scream started in his soul, but Batman swallowed it back. He couldn't afford to give into despair. Dick couldn't afford it. But, he couldn't lose anyone else. He had already lost two of the most important people in his life, he couldn't lose his son, too. Now he understood the white-hot anger he had observed in Robin when the boy had first attacked the Joker. Batman wasn't entirely sure he wanted to overcome the urge to erase that clown from the earth should he lose Dick now.

 _No_! He wouldn't give in . . . _Dick couldn't die_! He refused to accept that outcome. Two more breaths then back to the compressions. He didn't care how long it took, he refused to give up.

Batman paused only long enough to check for a pulse.

 _Still nothing_! _Please, God, don't do this_! _Don't allow this to happen_ . . .

Batman retied the cord around Robin's arm, injecting another five ccs of the fampridine into Dick's veins. It had to work this time because the vial was empty. Tossing the syringe aside, Batman resumed CPR. After fifteen minutes, Batman was preparing to give another rescue breath when Robin gasped. It was just a small breath, barely anything at all, but the boy had been done it on his own. Batman check his pulse once more and . . .

 _There_! _There it was_.

It was shallow and thready, but he located it now with ease. The fampridine had worked! As if he needed more proof, the cut on the boy's forehead, received as a result of the explosion, was seeping blood again. His pupil were reacting, sluggishly, but improved from the first time he had checked them. It was encouraging. Satisfied Dick was recovering, Batman slid the lenses of his mask closed. Robin would live to fight again another day.

Batman called the Batmobile by remote. He recognized the building they were in. He had left the car close to this location. It would get here soon. Switching frequencies, he contacted the police to come pick up the trash, letting them know ambulances would be required as well. Robin's breathing was improving with every passing minute. Batman carried the boy out, stepping over the moaning form of Joker as he did so.

The sky was lightening as he stepped outside. More time had passed than he had realized. The air, however, smelled fresher than usual. A stiff breeze was blowing in from the ocean, carrying with it the scent of rain. Hugging the boy close, Batman stepped out to meet the car as it approached. He didn't want to dwell on how close the Joker came tonight to succeeding in destroying his life tonight.

It was over; he was done . . . Home beckoned.

* * *

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 **How's that for a roller coaster ride? REVIEW and tell me all about it! One more chapter to go . . . I think we all earned it, especially our two heroes! Keep watch for the Epilogue. I'll be starting it right away! Fluff ahead . . . :D**

 **Now then . . .**

 ***Tetraodontoxin, from the pufferfish (and similar fish), actually has no known cure or antidote as of this time. It IS a known agent in the paste we are told that bokurs feed to those victims to create the reputed "zombies". I took my inspiration from the 1988 movie, "The Serpent and The Rainbow" by Wes Craven. Nope, I don't own that either. Poisoning from tetraodontoxin _can_ be survived without side effects if the victim makes it through the first 24 hours. This would need to be accomplished with supportive medical assistance, however. **

**Fampridine is a real drug that is used for the treatment of Multiple Sclerosis and does indeed increase nerve activity to the muscles. How I use it in the story is fiction. It sounded like it could do a good job "curing" the bokur's poison, and so that is how I integrated it into the plot. I do not know if it would really work in a real life situation.**

 **For my plot, I determined that the resulting lack of oxygen from the poison would inflict brain damage after a certain length of time while it simulated death to the layperson. The resulting "zombie-like" effects are the result of this damage. In real life, this would most likely occur far more quickly than it does in my story. Those "zombified" in my story will never recover, unfortunately. Norman and the other guy (Let's call him Ted") will be spending the rest of their lives in a mental health facility.**


	7. EPILOGUE pt 1: Troubled Minds

**say This turned out longer than I expected, and so I split the epilogue into two parts.**

 _ **Epilogue pt. 1: Troubled Minds**_

 **Warning: Language and Some Angst . . .**

* * *

Dick blinked his eyes open, staring at the light fixture above his head. The ceiling disappeared in the darkness beyond the glow of the artificial lighting. The cool, moist air of the cave was familiar to him.

 _He was . . . home_? _But, How did he . . ._?

When the memory of the night flashed through his head, he sat up with a gasp. The pain of his injuries was sharp and immediate. With a strangled cry, Dick wrapped an arm around his middle and, with the other, clutched his head. His fingers discovered the stitches just inside his hairline from smacking against something harder than his head. His hand fumbled with the oxygen mask, yanking it off his face and throwing it to the side.

 _Bruce_!

Grief, deep and overwhelming, enveloped him at long last. The keening cry broke through every defense and wall he had thrown up around his heart in the last several hours. Tears stung his eyes but, this time he did nothing to stop them.

"Oh, I say, Master Dick!" Alfred's comforting voice came from somewhere to his right. "You need to lie back down, my boy."

Tears of pain and panic blurred his vision of the butler, but the hands that gripped his arms were larger and stronger than he knew Alfred's to be.

"It's okay, son. Are you still in pain? Lie back, and let Alfred get you something for it."

 _Am I hearing things_? He looked up, scrubbing the tears from his eyes. _Bruce_? _Could it be_? _But he's dead_! Dick had seen his body himself. But, then he had discovered that Joker had learned how to create zombies . . . _real_ _zombies_!

Fear surged through him, and Dick jerked himself out of Bruce's hands, rolling off the gurney. Landing on the floor in a crouch, the movement jarred his injuries and his body screamed at him. He staggered and fell. Bruce rounded the gurney, moving way too fast for Dick to counter. Panicked, he scrambled backward, away from him, terror in his eyes.

 _"No! No, stay back!"_ he cried out.

Dick grunted when his back slammed into the rough rock wall of the cave. Alfred and Bruce rushed around the gurney, coming at him from a different directions. Dick held out his arms to hold them off.

"Alfred, get back! He's a zombie. Joker turned him into a zombie!"

* * *

Bruce stopped, understanding that Dick had yet to realize he had saved him from that fate. He squat down, holding an open hand out to the boy in an effort to appear less threatening.

"Dick," he said calmly. "Dick . . . It's _me_! I'm _not_ dead. I'm alive right now because of you. What you did." Bruce talked to him slowly, but Dick was shaking his head back and forth, clearly unable to believe what he was seeing.

"No! No, I _saw_ you," he exclaimed. "You were _dead_! Y-You weren't breathing . . . You-you didn't have a pulse! I checked!"

"Dick, I need for you to calm down and listen to me," Bruce crooned. He had never seen the boy so completely terrified before, not even those times he had been hit by Scarecrow's fear gas. "The drug Joker used on me, when given in the correct dosage, only _simulates_ death. I was only paralyzed when you came in and gave me that shot of fampridine."

Bruce touched that spot at the juncture of his neck and shoulder where Robin had administered the shot. "Right here. You saved me, son. It took a few minutes, but it brought me out of it. Without your actions, I might have become like one of those poor men you saw back there, but that _didn't_ happen. You got to me in time."

Dick stared at him, wide-eyed and fearful, huddled into the corner where the natural cave wall abutted the cabinets that made up the medical bay of the Batcave. His shaking hands remained out as a way to keep the danger he was feeling at bay.

"Remember, Dick?" Bruce kept his distance as he urged him to think. "Those men couldn't speak, couldn't feel pain. They were unable to form an original thought anymore because of the damage inflicted on them by the drug Joker had given them."

Dick's gaze lost focus as he sifted through jumbled memories. He frowned and, eventually, Bruce saw a glimmer of hope enter into those amazingly expressive, blue eyes.

"So, the medicine I gave you . . . worked?" Dick asked quietly.

"Brilliantly," Bruce assured him.

"Although," Alfred interrupted, "Leslie will be by first thing in the morning to be checking you both out thoroughly. She wants to make certain there are no lasting side effects from either of the drugs used last night."

Dick turned his head slightly in Alfred's direction but his gaze remained pinned on Bruce. " _Both_ of us? Why both of us?"

Bruce interrupted, answering for the older man. "Just as a precaution," he said. "You're pretty banged up."

He didn't want to frighten Dick any more than he was already by admitting to him that he had been dosed with the same drug that had the Joker's men into zombies. Bruce was certain the boy would be dealing with nightmares and possibly other long-term psychological effects from this particular mission as it was. He didn't want Dick to worry that he might wake up like one of those poor souls they had fought tonight.

Taking a shaky breath, Dick slowly lowered his hands as he licked dry lips. "Y-You're alive. You're not dead?" he repeated, swallowing hard.

Bruce smiled tightly. "I'm alive," he assured him. "I never died, son. You were in time. You saved me." Bruce watched closely as Dick absorbed this information. He was waiting for that moment when it became real to him, waiting for the reaction he knew would come.

It started in the boy's chin, the wobble. His bottom lip trembled and he sucked it between his teeth to stop it but it was too late. His adrenaline was crashing and, soon, the rest of the body followed suit. He had contained his reaction for hours. Dick was shaking by the time his face crumpled as the pent-up emotions finally tore through the last of his control.

"B-B-Bru-u-uce . . ." Dick's voice broke as he began to sobbing.

"Ah, Dickie, I'm here." Bruce moved in quickly, sitting down beside him and pulling the boy into his arms. "Sh, son, I'm right here. I promise, I'm not going anywhere."

That was probably a lie. What they did was incredibly dangerous. He had no business promising things he might not be able to deliver on. Death stalked their heels every night, and Bruce had no way of knowing if he would end up leaving the boy at some point in the future. But, Dick's breakdown was making mincemeat out of his resolve. He tried to always be honest with the boy, but the truth was, Bruce would _do_ anything, say _anything_ , to comfort his child and ease Dick's distress.

Dick clung to him, actually crawling into his lap, something he had not done in years, at least, not since Dick had been ten.

 _He is growing up_ , Bruce thought, _too old to be held in his father's lap anymore_.

But, appropriateness notwithstanding, Bruce didn't have it in him to set the boy aside and, quite frankly, he didn't want to. Not while he, too, struggled with the self-same fear that claimed the boy. It had been too close tonight.

"Come on," Bruce told him. "It's been a long night. Let's get you to bed."

"Sir, your injuries . . .," Alfred protested. "I haven't finished . . ."

"They can wait until morning," he told him.

Alfred sighed, as exhausted and emotionally overwrought as were his charges. It had been a horrendous night for all of them.

"Very well, sir," Alfred murmured. "Until morning, then."

* * *

Dick wasn't ready to let go. He would have stayed there on the floor of the cave with Bruce all night had they let him. With difficulty, he forced himself to let go and stand, but his hand gripped the t-shirt Bruce was wearing and he couldn't make himself let go. Thankfully, Bruce didn't either.

Someone had changed him out of his Robin costume at some point. He was dressed for bed, in a t-shirt, pajama bottoms, and socks, but Dick didn't think he would ever get warm again. _Shock_ , his mind supplied. His head swam and he stumbled when he tried to walk. Bruce steadied him, ready to scoop Dick up in his arms at the slightest provocation. He didn't Bruce seeing him like this, like he was weak. It didn't seem to make a difference to his body, however.

"S-Sorry," the boy murmured, forcing his knees to stiffen.

"No worries. I've got you," Bruce assured him, one hand firmly on his shoulder.

Dick wasn't entirely sure he could make it up the stairs on his own, so he leaned into Bruce's side, allowing his adopted father to give him that extra support this once. Hoping Bruce didn't think less of him for it. A part of him almost wished the man would gather him up like he was still a child, Dick decided it would be too humiliating to be carried. He had thought he had lost a father for the second time tonight; in Dick's mind, losing Bruce's respect would be nearly as bad.

Unfortunately, the fear that had plagued him throughout the night returned as they neared his room. The closer they got, the more Dick felt himself tense. He wasn't ready to face the dark, yet. The idea of lying alone in his room while memories of one of the worst nights of his life replayed over and over in his head was almost more than he could endure, but he knew that to sleep would be even worse.

Sleep . . . Sleep meant dreaming. Dreaming meant nightmares. Sleeping was beyond him despite being the thing his body craved.

When Bruce paused beside the bed, Dick stiffened but remained steadfast in his choice. He would keep his request to himself. He was too old for this . . . He couldn't ask, no matter how badly he didn't want to be alone. But his hand had other ideas and clutched at his father's shirt, his fist tightening involuntarily. He was thirteen years old, God's sake! Did thirteen-year-olds still sleep with their parents anymore? He didn't know, but he thought not. Even if they did, he was Robin. He should be better than this. He should be able to tough it out, no matter how scared he was. But, he hated it.

Thankfully, Bruce didn't appear to be in any rush. The man just stood there with his arm around him while they stared at his queen-sized bed that Alfred had turned down for him. He rested a hand on Dick's shoulder squeezed gently, his thumb idly rubbing circles there. Dick was curious to what Bruce was thinking, he didn't dare ask. He had the feeling that if he opened his mouth to say anything at all, the spell would be broken and the man would leave sooner.

Bruce's voice rumbled. "I - ah, suppose you're getting too old to tuck in anymore, but . . ." he stammered, uncomfortable. He rubbed his free hand over the back of his neck. "You probably wouldn't want to . . ." His voice trailed off as he sighed.

"Want to what?" Dick asked finally. He wanted to know despite being dead on his fee, and by asking, it meant he could put this moment off for a little while longer.

* * *

Bruce thought about his own bed with a dread he hadn't experienced in years. He wasn't ready to tuck the boy in and face his own demons, but Dick was no longer that same little boy he had brought home years before that needed the comfort of another person to get him through the night. It was moments like these, however, when death had come knocking and Bruce had very nearly lost him forever, that he became painfully aware of the passage of time. His son was growing up, and Bruce no longer knew how he should act with him in light of the evening's traumatic events.

How did one admit a weakness to his child? How could Dick feel safe and protected with a father who was afraid of sleep, of his own bed? The irony that this time it was Bruce who needed a cuddle was not lost on him, but he could find no amusement in the discovery.

In general, Bruce Wayne was not a demonstrative person. His emotions and affections were seldom on display, even in the privacy of his own home. Dick knew this about him and accepted it. Of course, he had improved at this over the years, thanks to the assistance of one open and loving circus acrobat. He had even grown to enjoy the intimacy of the hugs that the boy had forced on him. But children grew up and, observing the actions of other fathers as to what was appropriate, the hugs had eventually morphed into pats on the back or the occasional shoulder squeeze. Since Dick had become a teenager, the level of intimacy had decreased substantially. Although he should be feeling relieved by this, Bruce found that he missed it.

What had happened downstairs, Bruce was certain, was the result of the extenuating circumstances. The boy had been panicked, in a state of shock, and as such,required a gentle touch. When the events of the night and that abrupt crash of adrenaline led to Dick's breakdown, it had been necessary to hold him in order to help Dick reestablish his grip on reality, to provide him with a calm and stable environment. That it had also assisted Bruce in grounding himself emotionally was merely a bonus. But, now that they were standing here in Dick's room, Bruce found the emotions he had experienced while in the Batcave had not dissipated completely. He was a little dismayed by the strength of the desire to simply hold his child in his arms, and the boy's age was irrelevant to the need.

He felt at a loss over how to handle this. He fumbled for something to say that wouldn't offend the boy. After all, what teenager wanted to be tucked into bed like he was still eight-years-old? He worried Dick would resent the implication he was still being see as a child should Bruce spent the night in the chair by his bed. Preserving their relationship, however, was more important than a sleepless night.

Bruce indicated the bed. "Will you be all right?" he asked, wincing internally at the unintentional insult. "I-I mean, is there anything else you need . . . Something to drink maybe?" He finished lamely.

He really should just go. He didn't.

Instead, he lent a supporting hand as Dick climbed reluctantly into bed. Not all of it could be blamed upon the soreness from the bruises earned. He wondered briefly what thoughts were rolling around the boy's head. It didn't take the world's greatest detective, however, to determine that Dick was as troubled by the prospects of sleeping alone as he was. It would be easy if the boy would only ask. Perhaps, he should just . . .

Bruce was saved from this state of affairs when his watch suddenly came to life, beeping.

Dick sat up. "What's that?" the teen asked. Whether this was from true curiosity or out of desperation, there was no time left to find out.

"Nothing to worry about. A communique from the League, I expect," Bruce announced. "Stay here."

* * *

Someone was in the Batcave!

Bruce controlled his reaction until he had shut Dick's door, then he was sprinting down the hall. His watch alerted him if someone or something set off the security system. This wasn't Alfred! Whoever it was, he was unauthorized. Bruce didn't want Dick anywhere near whatever trouble was awaiting below.

He turned the hands of the grandfather clock to the set time, ten forty-seven, and slid the piece from the wall. He lay his hand on the palm reader and felt, more than heard, the grinding release of the locks to the metal door hidden behind the antique. Slipping through, he set the manual lock in place, punching in the emergency code. No one would be exiting or entering through here without his express approval. He took a moment to shut down both the elevator lift and the automated lights that lit the stairs when it detected motion.

Bruce took off his socks before easing down the steps. If he needed to fight, the socks would prove to be a hindrance. He opened another hidden panel next to the door. It contained a handful of batarangs and an assortment of smoke bombs and incendiaries for emergencies. Alfred had called it paranoid. Bruce had called it prepared. He made his way down to where stairs began to curve, slipping over the side. There were natural handhold in the limestone here that Bruce had discovered long ago. He used them now, his hands and feet finding the protrusions and indentions with practiced ease in the dark.

His mind was speeding through possible scenarios and making multiple decisions as he entered the main cavern in the safety of the shadows. It was only then that Bruce learned the identity of his trespasser.

 _Damn it_! _What the_ _hell_ _was_ he _doing here_? But he knew the answer even as his mind asked the question.

If his ' _guest_ ' chose to look his way, there wouldn't be shadows dark enough to hide him. His advantage lay in the fact that he knew the cave. He stepped out into the main cavern.

"Superman . . . A little early for a visit." Bruce said dryly.

The Man of Steel whirled around to face him, impressed as always by Bruce's stealth. He had, of course, knew the moment Bruce had entered the cave, knew the man's heartbeat like his own, but then Bruce hadn't appeared on the stairs as was expected. Although, he could hear him moving around, the cave's acoustics tended to throw him off. Clark hadn't been able to pinpoint the man's exact location. He knew Bruce preferred it that way.

"Bruce!" Clark appeared visibly relieved to see him. "Thank God!"

Bruce wondered what earth-shattering emergency brought the super-powered alien to Gotham City. "You don't call first? What would your mother say?"

A sliver of a smile eased Clark's mouth. "She'd likely make me cut my own switch," he conceded readily.

Bruce joined the other man, his expression curious.

"And that . . . _works_?" He asked skeptically.

Clark shrugged, looking a little sheepish. "It hurt in other ways. Trust me when I say that _n_ _o one_ is invulnerable to Ma Kent's disappointment."

Bruce halted in front of him. So, what's so important that you are risking of your mother's disappointment to breach the Batcave's security?"

"I heard . . . rumors."

"You're a reporter, Clark, not a gossip columnist. Since when do you pay attention to rumors?" He walked over to the Batcomputer. He ached all over. If this wasn't important, he saw no reason he needed to continue to listen to Clark's whining standing up.

Clark followed, waving away the question. "They came from a variety of sources. Come on! What was I supposed to think?" he asked frustrated. "For God's sake, Bruce, I heard you were _dead_! You can hardly blame me for wanting to verify this for myself!"

Bruce snorted. "You'd be surprised what I can blame you for . . ." he said, dropping into his chair with a sigh. He rubbed his hands over his face. Normally, he would have rather died than allow anyone see the extent of his exhaustion, but today was an exception. He was simply too tired to care at the moment. "But, as you can see, the reports of my demise may have been . . . somewhat exaggerated."

Clark frowned at his friend's sarcasm. It was unusual for him to give in to his exhaustion. "What happened to you? I heard . . ."

"I know what your heard," Bruce snapped. "Alfred told me about the news reports. I can assure you, Clark, they were wrong."

The alien rolled his eyes. "Obviously," he muttered dryly, "but certain young ears worried that they were not."

Bruce glanced up at him. "The team?"

"The team, yes," Clark nodded, "but, I had also received a call from a colleague from the Daily Planet. Everyone there knows we are, at least, friendly acquaintances after the last few exclusives you've given me. As a rule, if there is anything happening in Gotham City, I get a heads up . . . There was a _body_ this time, Bruce! The coroner's office announced . . ."

"While I'm not yet privy to all the details of last night's adventure, I feel reasonably comfortable in assuring you that, whosever body it was they found, it wasn't _mine_."

"This isn't a joke, Bruce," Clark snapped.

"Have you forgotten who it is you're talking to?"

Superman leaned his hip against the edge of the Batcomputer and crossed his arms. " _Robin_ heard those same accounts after the team returned from their mission. Aqualad reports that Dick was pretty shaken up by the news."

Bruce blinked. "Aqualad called _you_? I didn't think the team was aware of your secret identity."

"They were _worried_ , Bruce, and contacted the League. Red Tornado contacted me."

Bruce remembered the boy's terror upon waking. It wasn't something he was likely to forget anytime soon. "' _Shaken up_ ' would be as good a term to use as any."

Clark's attitude eased. "How is he? Better now that he's seen you, I imagine."

"He'll be fine," Bruce murmured. He hesitated briefly. ". . . Given some time."

Clark tilted his head. "Will he? Are you sure about that?"

"He saved my life, you know," Pride crept into Bruce's voice with the admission. "But he's seen for himself that I'm all right. He'll be okay."

The Man of Steel tried to reign in his doubts. The rhythm of the boy's heart indicated he was upset. "Perhaps you're right but, I think, maybe not tonight."

Bruce frowned at that statement.

"I just needed to see you for myself," Clark straightened. "You'd better get upstairs. Sounds like someone may still need a little more reassurance."

Bruce glanced toward the stairs.

" _Go_! I'll let myself out and spread the news that Batman is still alive and kicking in Gotham City," Clark gave him a salute, and then he was gone in a blur of red and blue, loose papers scattering in his wake.

"Damned Boy Scout," Bruce grumbled aloud, knowing that Clark would hear his complaint. "You realize that I going to have to rewrite all of my security protocols after this."

* * *

 **REACTIONS?**

A **s usual, I'll do my best to recommend to my guest reviewers to sign up for an account. I can, then, respond to you personally. I don't usually take up space answering questions or explaining things on here when to do so might give away plot. And remember - You can always check what I'm up to on my profile page at the top. I update it often and always date my entries. If it is in *BOLD*, like this, I'm just chatting. If it is a combination, regular print and BOLD, then I'm usually updating a story. I list all my stories by both series and AUs, as well as chronological order to make it easier for you to follow.**


	8. EPILOGUE pt 2: Troubled Minds

**Epilogue pt. 2: Troubled Minds**

 **Warning: Some Language . . .**

* * *

Bruce paused outside of Dick's door. Despite what Clark had hinted to, Bruce was hesitant to enter. He didn't want to wake Dick if he had somehow managed to fall asleep. But the boy was prone to nightmares on occasion, so he listened. No sounds of distress could be heard in the hall, however, and the door to Bruce's own bedroom was looming large on his left, beckoning him to his own round of sleeplessness. There was nothing, then, to prevent Bruce from climbing into his own comfortable, king-sized bed.

Or, he sighed, from being plagued by worries and wracked by nightmares of his own.

He ran his hands over his face for the hundredth time since he had arrived home. Bruce shook his head and reached for the door handle. He only wanted to check on him. Clark had intimated that Dick was still upset and what with the way the boy had lost it downstairs . . . Bruce just needed to make certain that Dick was alright. If the boy really was sleeping, Bruce would go to his own room and brood there.

Before he could enter, the door was yanked out of his hand as Dick nearly ran him over. Bruce caught the boy by his shoulders before they could collide.

"Whoa there, partner," he said. "What's the rush?"

Dick swallowed visibly, gaping at him with wild eyes.

"B-Bruce," the boy stammered, "I-I thought . . . I just needed to . . . You know, make sure." Even in the dim light of the hallway, the blush was noticeable. "I'm sorry."

He understood immediately. Dream or not, he knew that the boy wouldn't be able to manage on his own this time. Bruce struggled for something to say that would make this easier on the both of them.

* * *

"Don't be sorry. Last night . . ." Bruce began softly. "It was hard on the both of us."

Dick agreed, but didn't comment. His heart was in his throat and his composure was dangling by a thread. Running into the man as Dick had bolted out of his room had startled him and now, he was struggling to catch his breath and the remnants of his dignity.

"You know, nightmares . . . Well, they could only be expected after an experience like this," Bruce continued.

Dick nodded. Truth was, he hadn't yet fallen asleep. His mind refused to shut off. It kept replaying his fight with Norman. He remembered that look in the man's eyes like there was no one was home. Upsetting as that was, he could have handled it if Norman's face hadn't kept switching to that of Batman's in his mind. Even awake, Dick's memories were being hijacked as he imagined it had been Batman attacking him, Batman who wouldn't stop. He could still feel the hands clutching at him . . . If Dick managed to sleep at all, he had no doubt that nightmares would be waking him, shaking and sweating, in short order.

"Then, there _is_ your concussion to consider," Bruce added, as if compiling a list. "I'll need to wake you every hour as it is . . . I suppose it would save me traveling back and forth between rooms."

Dick would take any excuse, it didn't matter what it was. He waited. If the man appeared a ill-at-ease, it was no more than what Dick felt himself. If Bruce's face appeared a little red, Dick's face felt hot as well.

"I . . . uh," Bruce cleared his throat. "I don't guess you'd be willing . . . I mean, if you're comfortable with it, that is. Only If you want to, of course," his voice trailed off weakly. After a brief hesitation, he sighed. "Well, I think I'd be okay with it."

He didn't want the man to think less of him, but Dick really, _really,_ didn't want to be alone right now, so, he asked, "Then, if you wouldn't mind, c-could I sleep in _your_ room, please?"

Bruce nodded solemnly, his shoulders slumping as the tension flowed out of him. "I think that is a perfectly reasonable request."

Dick sagged against him in utter relief. He didn't want to admit that he was terrified that he would wake up only to discover that this past hour had been nothing more than a dream conjured by his concussion, and that Bruce was still dead. The large hand in the middle of his back, however, felt real as it steered him into the master bedroom. With his body sore and his head aching from the night's activities, Bruce had to help him climb into the tall, four-poster bed. He was tempted to ask for something stronger to help with the pain but, knew Bruce would refuse despite his earlier offer. Narcotics and head injuries were a bad combination.

Once Bruce was settled on his side of the bed, Dick edged a little closer. Dick's hand slipped across the expanse until his knuckles brushed against Bruce's arm, allowing that small touch to soothe him. Heavy draperies kept out the morning light, leaving the room in the comfort of darkness. After a few minutes, Bruce sighed, moving his arm out of the way. His voice rumbled in the darkness.

"You might as well scoot over here and get comfortable," he told him.

"You wouldn't mind?" Dick felt his answering chuckle vibrate through the mattress.

"You're only going to end up over here eventually anyway," Bruce reminded him, his smile could be heard in his voice. "You always do."

Taking advantage, Dick slid across the cool sheets until he was plastered up against the warmth of his father's side. Bruce's arm settled around him carefully, mindful of the boy's aches and pains. Resting his head on the heavy muscle of the man's chest, Dick listened to the solid beat of Bruce's heart, strong and rock-steady, as if nothing in the world could possibly disturb that rhythm.

With his most immediate needs taken care of, however, Dick's guilt began to badger him, his emotions churning in his gut. He knew he would have to tell Bruce eventually, and the boy couldn't help but wonder if the admission would end up costing him his father, after all.

* * *

Bruce tried to sleep. It wasn't as though he were uncomfortable. The boy was surprisingly easy to sleep with despite his tendency to cling, but this morning Dick was practically rigid with some unresolved anxiety. He had attempted the tried and true method of combing his finger through the boy's hair but to no avail. If anything, Dick felt even more on edge than before. It annoyed him that Clark had been right in his evaluation of Dick's emotional state. That the super-powered pest seemed to know more about his boy than he did rankled.

Bracing himself for whatever lay ahead, Bruce asked the question. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Dick snorted, no longer pretending to sleep. "Not really, but I should probably just get it over with. I'm not going to be able to sleep until I do."

 _That bad_? "Let me turn on the light."

" _No_!" Dick tightened his grip around his waist. "No, don't! It's easier to tell you in the dark."

Bruce frowned. "Dick, I'm fine. I'm alive and Joker is back in Arkham. We're safe, now."

"I know that. I do. It's just that . . . This is something else," Dick insisted.

 _This doesn't bode well._ Bruce couldn't decide if he should be worried. "All right. Talk to me. Tell me what's bothering you so much that you can't relax."

The boy didn't speak immediately. Instead, he pushed up into a sitting position, groaning with the effort. When Bruce moved to follow suit, Dick's hand held him in place.

"No, don't," the boy begged before his hand fell away. He sighed. "All I ever wanted to do was to make you proud of me," Dick began. His voice was hardly more than a whisper. "Out of everyone I know, your opinion is the only one that ever mattered to me."

"Ah, Dick. You don't need to . . ."

"No! No, you've got to let me finish this. _Please_. I don't think I'd be able to find the courage to tell you if I have to wait," the boy pleaded.

Bruce fell silent as he waited for whatever bombshell Dick was about to drop on him.

"I . . . I . . ." The boy sounded breathless. "God, why does this have to be so _hard_?"

Bruce assumed the question was rhetorical and held his tongue. He heard a sniffle, realized the boy was crying. He strained to remain where he was when he wanted nothing more than to reassure Dick that nothing he could ever do would lower him in Bruce's eyes. He blew out his breath in frustration.

"Dick . . ."

"I broke it," the boy blurted. The crying began in earnest now.

"What?" He was confused.

"My oath . . . I broke it," Dick choked out.

He frowned at this, suddenly glad for the shadows. He was having difficulty grasping what Dick was trying to say.

"The oath? I don't understand what you're trying to tell me." Bruce pushed himself up in the bed. When he placed a hand on the boy's shoulder, Dick shrugged it off.

"I _failed_ you," he cried out miserably. "But, I'm not sorry for it. Joker deserved to die!"

"Joker . . .? Dick, you didn't kill the Joker." Bruce told him. Regardless of Dick's request, Bruce needed to see him. Turning on the bedside lamp, he found the young teen's expression fierce.

"Maybe I didn't, but I _meant_ to," the boy insisted. He scrubbed a hand over his eyes. "I went there with the intention of _killing_ him. Don't you see, Bruce? I broke the oath."

"No, Dick," Bruce took hold of the boy's shoulders and gently turned him to face him. "You didn't."

"If not in fact, I did in spirit. If you hadn't taken the batarang away from me, I would have."

You made a mistake. You picked up the wrong batarang. Understandable considering the circumstances," Bruce explained. Had I not surprised you, you would have realized this and deactivated it yourself.

Dick shook his head. "It wasn't a mistake."

Bruce suddenly smiled, running a hand over the boy's head. "No, Dick, I don't believe that. Perhaps, you wanted to, but you would have stopped yourself. You don't have what it takes to be a killer. That kind of darkness isn't in you."

Cerulean blue eyes stared at him. "I _would_ have let the batarang count down."

The smile slipped away. "The bomb in that batarang was too large, son. The explosion would have killed you as well."

Dick looked away. "I was willing to do whatever it took to end him."

His frown was back. Was Dick saying . . .

" _He tried to kill you!_ " the boy cried out suddenly. He spun around to face Bruce, tears rolling down his face unimpeded. "No, not kill you," he corrected himself, "what Joker had planned for you was even _worse_! How could I have let that go? _How_? I would have been alone again, and . . . and I couldn't _stand_ it, Bruce. I couldn't bear it that my entire world had been destroyed while Joker's just continued on as usual."

Dick seemed to deflate, shoulders slumping. "Don't you see, Bruce? He would have just gone out tomorrow someone else and then again next day and the next one after that. Lives ruined but nothing would have changed for him . . . Not a damn thing."

* * *

Dick could feel Bruce staring at him. "You probably regret adopting me as your son now," he said.

Shame filled him and he found himself unable to look at the man. Dick's guilt, the knowledge of what he had intended to do, weighed heavily on his shoulders.

"You will _always_ be my son," Bruce declared, then.

"How can you say that? You should hate me."

A large hand brushed through his hair, pushing it back from his forehead. The hand was warm as it slid over his head and then cupped the back of his neck firmly. The pressure brought Dick's eyes up finally. Bruce was shaking his head.

"Of course, I don't hate you. You _wouldn't_ have gone through with it. I know you, Dick. Had I not distracted you, you would have stopped that countdown at the last second."

Dick wasn't feeling nearly as certain of the strength of his moral character as Bruce seemed to be.

"And, you wouldn't have been alone, son." Bruce continued. "I would _never_ have left you alone."

"B-But if you were _dead_?" Dick wiped his eyes with the edge of the sheet.

"You would have still had Alfred." Bruce assure him.

"I love Alfred, I really do, but . . . I loved Uncle Jack, too, yet they wouldn't let me stay with the circus," Dick said. "No matter how important Alfred is to me, the world still sees him as just a servant. What if they took me away from Alfred the way they did with Jack Haley?"

"Ah, Dickie. Do you really believe that I haven't thought of all that?" Bruce told him. "I've made arrangements for you should anything ever happen to me. If Batman isn't at issue, the courts won't interfere. You won't have to worry about CPS or anyone else taking you away ever again."

"And, if you die as Batman?" Dick asked worriedly. It remained unspoken between them, but they both knew that if Bruce were to die, it would be while wearing that suit. "What if, like tonight, they send your body to the coroner's office?"

Bruce blinked. "But they _didn't_ send me to the coroner's office . . . did they?" He thought he had remained at least semi-conscious throughout his ordeal. Surely, he would have been aware had he been sent to the morgue first.

"No," Dick shook his head. "No, it was someone else Joker had dressed as you, the man he had stolen the zombie recipe from. But if they _had_ sent you there, then they would have known that Batman is Bruce Wayne."

"Dick, listen to me." Bruce took Dick chin in his hand, making sure he had the boy's attention. "If that ever happens, you need to come home. Do you hear me? If my identity is ever made public, you're to come back here, to the Batcave, not the manor. I've left instructions with Alfred of what to do in that event. He'll take care of you." He looked thoughtful for a moment. "Actually, I'm a little surprised Alfred didn't put those plans in motion tonight, if reports of my death had been on the news."

"He tried," Dick admitted reluctantly. "I didn't listen to him, though. I had to find you first."

Bruce sighed. "Understand this, son. _Someone_ will always be here to take care of you. If not Alfred, then someone else will come for you. I promise."

Dick leaned into him then, wrapping his arms around Bruce's waist. He breathed in deeply, drawing into his lungs the scent of sandalwood, leather, and soap. He held it as long as he could, locking it into his memories, although he didn't believe a day would come when he would forget anything about this man. It wasn't that Dick didn't believe Bruce's promises, but there was this little sliver of fear that he didn't think he would ever be rid of . . . that someday Dick could lose him, the single most important person in his life. But, now was not the time for those thoughts.

"So, then, you're not mad at me?" Dick whispered. "For what I tried to do?"

"No," Bruce murmured against the top of his head. "I have faith in you, even if you do not right now. But, you and I _will_ be having a discussion tomorrow about ignoring Alfred's orders and attempting to take on Joker alone. You're growing up fast, but you aren't quite ready to tackle that clown by yourself just yet."

"I don't feel very grown up at the moment," Dick muttered.

"Is this uncomfortable for you?" Bruce loosened his hold on the boy even as Dick tightened his.

" _No,_ _don't_ . . . Don't let go yet. Please," Dick asked. "I know it's dumb, but I don't want to feel grown up right now. Tomorrow, maybe, but not just yet." He took comfort in that steady rhythm in his ear.

"It's not dumb," Bruce murmured, laying back down in the bed and enfolding the boy in his arms. "I'll hold you as long as you wish."

"I . . ." Dick cut himself off abruptly, changing his mind about what he was going to say.

"What is it? You can tell me anything," Bruce coaxed.

Dick waited for a while until he thought that maybe Bruce had fallen asleep. His breathing was deep and even.

"I love you," he whispered, " . . . Dad." Dick sighed, finally relaxing in the knowledge that, for now, all was right in his world.

Dick didn't expect the words in return. It was part of the reason he had waited until he thought Bruce was asleep to say them. He knew that his new father was a man of action rather than words. But as long minutes passed, Dick felt Bruce's lips press softly against the top of his head, and he smiled. Despite that sleep was beginning to tug at Dick's consciousness, his mind struggled to let it go . . . While the subject would never come up again, the question remained in the back of his mind . . .

If Bruce hadn't been there, if he hadn't have torn the bomb from Dick's fingers and thrown it away . . . Would he truly have stopped the bomb from exploding in that last second? Dick had to admit, if only to himself, that . . .

He didn't know.

* * *

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